


You Might Have Belonged to Another

by kindofanoxymoron



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Here's to another love triangle fic because i've run out of ones to read, I can't seem to want to write any other fic besides one that involve arthur and danse, No Blind Betrayal, attempts at not rushing the plot, catch me on tumblr by the same name, fallout 76 is a disappointment with no companions, i tend to drag things out but im working on it i swear, im garbage at writing, lets call this the third try at the same damn premise, or if i could be sweet attempt 2, shaun? who's shaun? not my fuckin son thats who, should be called when the world falls down attempt 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2019-08-25 23:50:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16670749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindofanoxymoron/pseuds/kindofanoxymoron
Summary: Yet another Danse v Arthur fic.Haven't decided the end game.NO BLIND BETRAYAL





	1. Don't Worry Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Don't Worry Baby- The Beach Boys

**Danse**

He pulled the trigger of his laser rifle in futility, having just ran out of ammo. He swallowed a snarl as the ghouls snapped and scraped at his power suit. Using the butt of his gun, he broke the jaws of those closest to him. His charge hung back behind the shop counter quickly reloading her 10mm pistol with gusto before providing covering fire and busting the head of one open. The shot caused it to splash across his face, the stench of rotting brain and flesh uncomfortably close to his mouth and uncomfortably warm. He fought back the urge to retch and continued his melee with the others, taking out his frustrations on them instead of unleashing a slew of reprimands with the gore in danger of entering his mouth, then he’d be unable to hold back his lunch. Still, with the foul creatures encroaching further, their numbers seemingly endless, he had to give the order to retreat further into the decrepit building. Danse only hoped they wouldn’t be sandwiched between two hoards.

“Up the stairs, Harding, now!” He ordered over the discordant howls of the ghouls. He didn’t need to look to know she’d ignored him. Before he could turn and drag her up the stairs, his stomach fell through his feet.

“Grenade!” She yelled from the bottom steps before bolting up them. Danse all but scrambled to follow before the heat of the blast singed the back of his suit, knocking him off balance. It seemed to do the trick and only a few were left. Before he could stand again, Danse pulled out his secondary and laid waste to them with ease. With finally a second to catch his breath, he remembered himself and after placing a mine at the bottom of the steps he marched up to where Harding sat. The Initiate hadn’t waited to pull out a purified water and douse a cloth shirt with it. She tensed at his fuming expression, fists clenching around the fabric.

“Initiate Harding, might I remind you that I am your commanding officer. I expect you to follow my orders to the tee, what you did just now could have ended completely different. We’re lucky the building didn’t come down on us!” He reprimanded, complete with the finger pointing and pacing. All she did was hold the shirt out to him. At first all he did was stare at it dumbly before taking it and wiping his face clean without so much as a thank you. It was too bad that the gore had slipped past his neckline and was getting into his suit. As much as he loathed to be out of it while out on the beat, the feeling was beyond disgusting.

The light was fading quickly, as the day was wont to do in the winter. It couldn’t have been later than 1800 hours, but it wasn’t worth heading out into the darkness with so many ferals in the area. It wasn’t the first time the report Knight Rhys had given was insufficient in quantifying the amount of ghouls they had to clear. The mission was only to tide them over until the Prydwen arrived, not get them killed. With great reluctance and a worsening of his mood, he positioned his power armor to block the stairwell and exited the suit. Looking down at his jumpsuit made him groan and grimace. “We’ll have to bivouac here tonight and set out earlier than planned in the morning.” He sighed, his irritation draining now that the immediate danger had passed. Danse walked over to the broken window, glancing around with a practiced eye and absentmindedly wiping his hands on the shirt.

He turned at the muted sound of a hiss from Harding. She’d shed the brotherhood of steel combat armor she’d bought and the top portion of her vault suit and was trembling as she held a dingy rag he assumed was doused in alcohol to her shoulder. Her eyes faced resolutely forward as she gingerly rubbed at whatever wound she had. The sight made something inside him pinch but he swallowed it down. “If you were injured you should have said so, Harding.” He all but grumbled as he came over to crouch in front of her and study her injury. She glared defiantly at him and he tried not to feel like he deserved it but failed.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Let me see.” He murmured, waiting for her to give some sort of acknowledgement. After a moment she swallowed and nodded, pulling the rag away from a gnarly gash on her bicep. Danse watched her face for any discomfort as he began to tend to it. “How’d this happen?” He, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out exactly when it had happened. Had it been from shrapnel from her grenade; had one of the ghouls managed to land a hit on her, had it been from before that, even?

“Remember when we were talking about the best techniques to take down yao guai’s and some raiders got the jump on us and we had to, as you put it, strategically retreat? Well it happened when we had to crawl through that damn fence.” She spat at recalling the rusted out chain-link tetanus trap. Danse closed his eyes and tried to take a calming breath, having to pause his ministrations to collect himself at her admission. They’d crawled through the fence not long after leaving the Cambridge Police Station.

“That explains the surplus of bloodbugs.” He offered evenly, trying to hide his disappointment. “This is going to have to be checked out by Scribe Haylen when we get back to the station, it should have been cleaned immediately and at this point it wouldn’t surprise me if it was infected.” He said, administering not one, but two stimpacks before wrapping the wound with a bandage. When he was finished, he lingered and watched her inspect his work.

“I didn’t think it was this bad. I guess adrenaline really is the best painkiller.” She chuckled ruefully, staring at the bandage. He allowed himself to study her in the fading light, her smile somehow making it easier to see. A thought was forming in his mind that he fought to realize. He rose, clearing his throat and faced away from her in a strategic retreat to distract himself before the thought became real.

“Affirmative. I’ll get a fire going so we can have our evening provisions.” He said with a sense of finality.

“I’ll set up our bedrolls, then.” She groaned as she rose to get to it, but he held out a hand as if to stop her. Harding looked at him in confusion and surprise as he fumbled to explain himself.

“I, um, you’re injured, I’ll do it. Just, um, sit back and rest.” He verbally stumbled along yet managed not to flop. “That’s a, uh, order.” He finished, turning away from her to grimace at his ineloquence.

“Okay. I’ll just sit here, I guess.” She replied with confusion still evident in her voice.  

As he managed to get a healthy spark going he rummaged through their packs for some Pork n’ Beans and Instamash. While he waited for their dinner to heat up he laid out their bedrolls strategically; far from the window and out of sight of the stairs after moving some of the broken furniture around. Danse felt her eyes on him the entire time and regretted giving her nothing to do. By the time he was done, he was working up a sweat and the last vestiges of the day were long gone. He’d been so lost in his head that he’d forgotten about their dinner, but thankfully she’d set to finish it and make sure it didn’t all burn. Danse took a seat across from her with the fire between them and began to eat. He was thankful for the silence, until he looked up from his meal and found her staring at him. A creased brow appeared to be a permanent fixture when he was with her. She finished eating before him and pulled two beers from her pack, wasting no time in breaking the seal on one and taking a healthy sip before holding the other out to him in an unspoken question. He eyed it like it couldn’t be trusted for a second, earning him a snicker.

“It’s not like it’s gonna bite you, Danse.” She teased before wiggling it around. He pouted at her before taking it and downing half of it without looking away in a challenge. Her eyebrows shot to her hairline as she began to study her own bottle and his little stunt proved to keep her quiet, at least for the moment. “I’m sorry.” She murmured after a time. Danse spared a glance at her. Her face had shifted into an easily neutral mask as she stared into the fire. Her gaze flicked to his and she coughed as if to clear her throat when he gave no response. “For, uh, not telling you when I got cut. I didn’t want to slow us down.” She admitted.

Danse wanted to tell her that it was only proving to slow them down; that by withholding that information she was putting them at greater risk. But, another part of him wanted to apologize in kind. The fact that she hadn’t felt comfortable enough to tell him in the first place was a reflection of his failure as a leader. He hadn’t realized he was clenching his fist until she spoke again.

“But I suppose I slowed us down anyway, huh?” She sighed ruefully as she pulled her knees up to her chin and held her bottle against her lower lip. Danse berated himself for wallowing in self pity instead of assuaging her feelings of guilt. He swallowed as he collected himself.

“I won’t lie and say you didn’t put us at greater risk, but I will tell you that it isn’t all your fault.” He cast his gaze over her shoulder because he couldn’t bear to see her face as he continued. “As your CO, I should have-- I should’ve noticed you were injured, that you weren’t performing at your best. Not only that, but it was my decision, yet again, that resulted in an injury.” He cast his eyes down at his hands before topping off his bottle. He heard more than saw her maneuver over to his side and lay a hand on his crossed knee.

“Hey, look at me, Danse.” She coaxed, giving his knee a gentle shake. When he didn’t, her dainty fingers took his face in her hand and made him look at her. The fire in her eyes kept him pliant and he couldn’t help but have his eyes rove over her face from her eyes to her lips and back as her thumb ran over his cheek. “You can’t keep blaming yourself for their deaths. They weren’t your fault. You were dropped into an area you had no information on, with no backup, and with no way to contact your superiors. There was nothing you could do to prevent their deaths. And not that it will help any, but they knew what they were risking when they signed up for Squad Gladius and the Op.” He tensed and she was having none of it when he tried to look away. He had no idea why he was letting her do this. It was beyond breaking protocol, but he didn’t want to stop her. “Listen to me, Danse. You did your best. You did your best and I don’t know if you care or value it, but I’m proud of you. I’m so proud of you and I know how hard you’ve been trying to stay strong for Haylen and Rhys. Hell, I’m an outsider and even I can see how much they respect you.

“I know you and I should have known you’d blame yourself for my stupid decision. I’m sorry for bringing up those bad memories, but I want you to know that I'm here for you and that I don’t blame you for anything that happened and that no one else blames you either. I know I’m nobody and just an Initiate to you, but I want you to lean on me when things get too hard. When the Prydwen finally arrives I know things will change, but I-- I hope we’re still together.” She finished, nearly cooing. Danse hadn’t noticed how close they had gotten and blinked as if coming out a trance. She dropped her hand and backed off as he cleared his throat.  

“Thank you for the reassurance, Initiate Harding. When the Prydwen arrives you’ll be put under my sponsorship as per Elder Maxson’s approval. If he approves my sponsorship, then we’d be doing Ops together for the foreseeable future.” Danse rose and dusted himself off before collecting the ragged shirt to clean the interior of his power armor. “I hope he approves.” He muttered under his breath despite himself. “I’ll take first watch, get some rest, Harding.” He heard shuffling as she got situated.

“Hey, Danse.” She called.

“What is it, Initiate?” There was a pause before she responded.

“Call me Juliana when it’s just us. It’s weird being called Harding all the time.” He visibly stiffened.

“That would be inappropriate.” He scowled, feeling his half-thought from before becoming clearer. Danse found he would like very much to call her so familiarly.


	2. Rescue My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby It's Just You- (Magnolia) Lynda Carter

**Juliana**

Danse hadn’t been kidding when he said that seeing the Prydwen for the first time was a formative experience, so was her first time riding a vertibird. She’d nearly crumpled to the floor until Danse had gripped her arm to keep her steady upon lift off.

“The Commonwealth looks different from up here, doesn’t it?” He’d said. _No shit._ She’d thought, but he looked the happiest she’d seen him yet. Captain Kells seemed like a hardass and looked at her like she was scum but she’d promised Danse that she’d be on her best behavior so she grit her teeth and kissed his ass. Danse then said that Elder Maxson wanted them to report to the command deck for a debriefing and added, with a tone, that Elder Maxson was not a man to mess with. She’d all but pouted at that.

She’d been confused at his appearance and struggled to not sport a contemplative frown as the man went on with his speech. When he let his eyes roam the group, they rested for a time on her and she couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Danse on the other hand seemed to preen. The enigmatic Elder finished his speech with the Brotherhood’s signature tagline and pose and Danse bumped her when she didn’t salute along with everyone else. She pursed her lips upon realizing that it hadn’t gone unnoticed by the Elder who was now blatantly studying her warily as the crowd dispersed.

“Paladin Danse, welcome back to the Prydwen.” He intoned, ripping his stare from her and decidingly ignoring her presence. _Asshole._ “After skimming your report I had expected... well I had essentially expected a hardened combatant according to your analysis, but your Initiate appears to be a fragile vault-dweller, for lack of a better term. I can’t help but question your support and her usefulness to the Brotherhood.” The barrel-chested man scowled, sparing her a quick glance and noting her vault suit under her combat armor. Juliana narrowed her eyes and frowned at the Paladin who bolstered his stance.

“Elder Maxson, Initiate Harding may look like she couldn’t hurt a bloatfly, but she’s pulled our Squad through some tough days. Initiate Harding played a crucial part in obtaining the Deep Range Transmitter. In my report I did mentioned her experience with a Vault, but she has quickly adapted to life out in the Commonwealth. I hope that you take that into account before judging her worth based on her appearance, Elder Maxson.” She swallowed her surprise and affection at his cowed defense and watched the Elder’s reaction. He’d stiffened, standing straighter and adjusting his battlecoat. Maxson slid his eyes back to her and gave her an obvious once over.

“Forgive me, with the arrival of the Prydwen I have had more important matters to attend to.” He stared at her as though apologizing to her, but she knew his words were for the Paladin. She shifted restlessly on her feet despite herself. “I understand that you wish to sponsor, Initiate...” He looked at her like he wanted her to provide her name. If he’d read the report he’d know her name. It appeared that he hadn’t and had just read maybe the first few lines.

“Harding. Juliana Harding, Elder.” She provided, pursing her lips when his eyes flashed and a corner of his lips lilted up. _This all a power play to him._

“--Initiate Harding, and I am approving her entry into the fold.” He all but purred her name. Juliana twitched and he’d clearly caught it if the satisfied narrowing of his eyes was anything to go by. The two nearly let out a breath of relief before he continued. “But I would like to take her under my wing to personally determine her place amongst our brothers and sisters. I understand that my request is unusual, but this is clearly an unusual circumstance. I assume you do not mind my decision, Paladin?” He was clearly testing Danse and she felt a little sick at not having the stalwart Paladin at her side to guide her. She flicked her concerned expression to him, but he didn’t let his eyes leave the Elder’s, though his jaw did flex. _Danse you can’t let him do this. We’re supposed to stay together! You can’t, you can’t, you can’t--_ She willed her thoughts to reach him.

“Of course, Elder Maxson. I stand by your decisions.” The air in her lungs left in a quiet pant before she took a steadying breath and looked at the floor, floored. “I am, however, concerned whether or not Initiate Harding will be allowed on ground missions, sir--” Maxson nodded. “--And who she will be assigned to on the occasion.” _So he’s reluctant to throw me completely to the wolves._

“On the event that happens, she will be assigned to be under your command, seeing as to how I can’t leave the Prydwen at the moment.” The Elder added almost regretfully before puffing out his chest in a show of authority. “Getting to the anticipated part of our plans, Initiate Harding, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Knight. Where the title with pride, Ad Victoriam.” He saluted her and she stifled her reluctance to do the same and stiffly mirrored him. “Paladin, I require you to give Knight Harding the purview of the Prydwen along with her bunk and proper Brotherhood attire. I expect you to meet me here in proper form tomorrow at 0600, Knight Harding. Take a day of rest, you’ve earned it, Paladin, you will get your next orders in two days time, Ad Victoriam.” The Elder’s dismissal clear as he turned his back on them, his gait more sensual than when he had approached. Juliana ground her teeth and whirled on the Paladin, but he’d already began to head up the ladder.

It wasn’t hard to catch up to the hulking man, but the short distance without him had her buggy. Yet again, she found herself wondering how she’d manage without him always by her side. The thought had her mentally berating herself. She wasn’t some child who needed their hand held. A part of her knew that wasn’t the reason she wanted him so close, but it wasn’t the time nor place for such thoughts.

“So, who’s going to say I don’t belong here next, Danse?” She half joked, forcing a smile and having it come out as a grimace. She heard him sigh.

“We’re going to meet Knight-Captain Cade, our medic.” She noted that he chose not to address what she’d said and felt a lump form in her throat. “Knight-Captain, I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Danse greeted, catching Cade’s attention. The bald man looked up from his clipboard in fond recognition.

“Ah, Paladin Danse, welcome aboard. It’s been quite some time. I assume you’re here for a very good reason, given your aversion to my clinic.” The Knight-Captain jabbed good-naturedly before catching a glimpse of Juliana behind Danse’s encumbersome armor.

“Yes, well, Elder Maxson has given me orders to familiarize our latest recruit to the Prydwen and her inhabitants. May I introduce you to Knight Harding.” Danse’s voice rumbling with pride as he moved out of the way. Juliana froze and quickly tampered down her anxiety with a practiced smile.

“A Knight already? Impressive. Welcome aboard, Knight. As with every new recruit, I’m going to have to ask you a series of medical-related questions and I'd like you to answer me to the best of your ability. Are you ready to begin?” The Knight-Captain spoke as he fetched a fresh paper and attached it to his clipboard. Juliana nodded, sensing Danse shift uncomfortably at her side. “First Question: as a child, were you exposed to radiation for an extended period of time?” She appreciated his unassuming tone.

“There wasn’t that much radiation around before the bombs fell.” His eyes seemed kind and she found herself telling him the truth. The way his brows shot up and his near frantic flipping of pages on his clipboard had her popping an amused grin.

“Before the bombs? What? Let me check my notes.” He read whatever paper he had for a second. “You were a vault-dweller? You’re probably healthier than anyone else aboard.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m sorry that I missed that in your records... just going down the list of questions... I’m sure you understand. Okay, second question: have you ever had or come in contact with a person confirmed to be carrying a communicable disease?”

“Never been seriously sick in my life, radiation poisoning notwithstanding of course.” He merely hummed at her feeble attempt at humor.

“Good, good. Third question... and please answer honestly: have you ever had sexual relations with any species considered non-human?” Her mind immediately thought of Hancock and their flirtatious friendship. If Danse hadn’t already been on her mind, she would have experimented with the charismatic ghoul. She wouldn’t tell Cade that though, with Danse shifting in unbearable discomfort.

“That happens often enough for you to have a question about it?” She deflected with what she hoped was a convincing amount of distaste, completing the act by laying a hand over her heart.

“Fortunately, the Brotherhood finds that type of behavior absolutely distasteful. Since you haven’t spent too much time in the wasteland, I’ll assume your answer is ‘no.’” She swallowed her relief. “Last question: would you have any problems pulling the trigger on an enemy of the Brotherhood whether they’re human, formerly human, or machine?”

“That’s more of a morals question, isn’t it?” She asked, unliking the twinge of panic in her stomach, though her confident smile didn’t waver.

“Oh, absolutely. I feel that the mental state of the crew is just as important as the physical. Anyone that hesitates firing in combat due to misguided moral standards certainly isn’t Brotherhood material.” Her smile did strain at that. Her morals were not ‘misguided.’ “So what about you? Do you have a problem with it?”

“If my life’s in danger, I’ll do whatever it takes to defend myself.” She felt that Danse liked that answer.

“I see no reason to prevent you from beginning your duties immediately. If you ever need medical assistance... you let me know.” Cade smiled as their interview ended. Danse ushered her across the hall towards a small, jumpy man.

“Proctor Quinlan?” Danse’s voice made the man jump.

“Ah. Yes. You must be the new recruit described in Paladin Danse’s report.” The squirrely man noted after noticing her presence. He reminded her of the old librarian at the Boston Library that scolded her and Nate for giggling too loud while she was studying for the BAR. Nate’d been flipping through a book of jokes and had offered up the one’s he knew would get her to look at him. She remembered how she wasn’t even mad that he’d been distracting her. The only thing he’d made her feel was wanted and special. His eyes and smile had melted her even while they were ‘just friends.’ Her heart warmed at the memory before the cold, unforgiving truth came back with a vengeance.

“Under normal circumstances, I’d provide you with a proper orientation of my department. However, I’m woefully behind setting up research patrols and getting bombarded with requests for technical documentation. Unfortunately, I’m lacking the personnel needed to get the job done.” He sighed in consternation, dragging her memories back to the forefront of her mind.

“Maybe I could lend you a hand.” She bit out, mentally kicking herself for falling into sentimentality in a world with little. The man seemed to look at her with new eyes, perhaps unexpecting her to propose such an idea.

“That would be splendid. As you patrol the commonwealth, keep your eyes open for blueprints, memos, manuals, books, charts... anything containing useful technical data. I’m authorized to pay you for each bundle on documents that you recover. And if you wish to be assigned to a research patrol, I have plenty of them waiting to be filled. In any event, it was a pleasure to meet you, Knight.” She didn’t like his obvious dismissal, but perhaps it was her lingering bitterness over her situation.

“Actually, Proctor, I have something better than any documents you could find about Pre-war life, if you’re interested.” She offered, liking how the man looked affronted before curiosity got the better of him.

“I see, could you perhaps be referring to materials from your vault? Most artifacts from vaults are in mint condition.” Juliana restrained herself from calling herself a relic.

No, I am referring to myself.” The man had the gall to scoff. “Apparently you are uninformed, _Proctor_ , that the inhuman experimentation of my vault happened to be cryostasis.” She got a sick sense of satisfaction at the wounded look he gave her. “I understand that my credibility may be lacking, but you can certainly check in with Knight-Captain Cade for verification. Hell, you can even ask Elder Maxson if that isn’t enough to assuage your reservations.”

“Knight Harding, your tone is borderline insubordination.” Danse quietly warned from behind her, clearly unliking her toying.

“Oh, I would never, Paladin Danse. I am merely... enlightening the good Proctor of my intentions.” She put on her tea party affectation, her most used act before the bombs, even turning to give Danse a wry smile. “Now I’m afraid I have other Proctors to meet. If you will excuse me, Proctor Quinlan.” She saluted with a slight bow. Danse grumbled as he apologized to the scrawny bookworm before quickly catching up to her.

“That was unexceptable, Harding.” He scolded and earning a shoulder shrug.

“You know that was tame, Danse.” He couldn’t disagree. “Who am I meeting next?”

“Proctor Ingram, our head mechanic and Power Armor Technician. I’ll warn you now that she can be a bit... rough with her words.”

“Oh, how fun.” Juliana smirked, earning her a weary sigh.

They found her in the Power Armor Bay, exactly where Danse said she would be. The Proctor turned at the sound of their approach. Ingram gave Danse a quick glance.

“So you’re the new recruit that I heard about. Hmm... not what I was expecting.” The woman harrumphed.

“What were you expecting?” Juliana had to ask.

“The last batch of recruits we took on were wastelanders... dirty, beaten up, and looking for a handout. They were desperate and looking for an easy out. You look like you’re here for a reason.” Ingram eyed her. “Anyway, since you came down here to meet me, we may as well get it over with. My name’s Ingram and this lovely little grease pit is where you’ll usually find me. If your Power Armor’s too tight in the crotch, the Prydwen’s about to crash into the ground, or a robot’s gone haywire, you come see me.” Juliana smirked, thoroughly enjoying the contrast from Quinlan.

“You should add ‘teaching charm school lessons’ to the list.” Ingram smiled and had a huff of a laugh, clearly enjoying the snark.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but when you’re as busy as I am, there isn’t much time for bowing and curtseying. There isn’t a day that goes by on this tub without five or six things breaking down.”

“While you’re at it, my car’s making this weird grinding noise when I back it out of the driveway.” Danse was unamused behind her, she could tell, but bit his tongue.

“You’re going to have to take a number.” Ingram said with a laugh in her voice. “And since I’m stuck in this rig, I’m not as spry as I used to be... the work tends to pile up.”

“Actually, you seem to be getting around really well.” Juliana could tell it was a sore spot.

“I suppose it’s better than the alternative.” Ingram shifted, eager to change the subject. “Anyway, if you need any work done on your Power Armor, feel free to use the workshops around here.”

“Thanks, Proctor.” Ingram puckered her face up at that.

“Call me Ingram, Proctor sounds too stuffy for my taste.” And with that Danse was ushering Juliana to Teagan.

“That went better than I expected. Most people chafe when meeting Proctor Ingram.” He muttered half to himself. Juliana snorted.

“Have faith, Danse. I can handle myself just fine.” She frowned, remembering how he wouldn’t be right behind her for much longer. Teagan watched them approach his cage.

“Step forward, Knight. Even though they’ve locked me in this blasted cage, I promise that I won’t bite.”

“Looks uncomfortable in there.”

“It’s not that bad. This is the stowage depot, and I... as you probably already guessed... am the ship’s quartermaster, Proctor Teagan. The powers that be have me locked in here so I can keep an eye on the Brotherhood’s valuables. If you need to stock up on supplies before you head out on a mission, this is the place to buy them.” He said grumpily.

“So if I’m out of caps, I guess I’ll just defeat my enemy with my bare hands.” Her attempt at humor missed him.

“There’s plenty of spare ammo and equipment all over the ship... you can help yourself to anything you find.” Teagan frowned, “everything in here is a bit more specialized and unique. The good news is by having a constant flow of caps, I’m able to buy whatever you bring me. I’m mostly interested in weapons, but I’ll take anything useful.” He concluded without fanfare.

The walk to her bunk was heavy with words unspoken. She wanted to reassure Danse that she could take care of herself. She wanted to tell him not to worry. She wished he would say something. They reached her bed in no time. A rock settled in her gut as she resolutely dropped her pack on her bed, refusing to look at him as he stood at the end of her bed.

“Elder Maxson will be a good influence on you, I think.” Danse said clearing his throat and breaking the silence. The hard frown that graced her face was one she couldn’t and didn’t want to hide. She studied the area, two Knights guarded the space but were on the opposite side of the space. They wouldn’t be able to hear them from there.

“I doubt it.” She grumbled, fiddling with the fraying edges on the cuffs of her vault suit.

“Keep an open mind. Elder Maxson is the perfect example to follow and there is no one better to train you, not even me.” He admitted, either not realizing her poor mood or choosing to ignore it. He was staring into the middle distance with a pleased smile on his face. That only served to aggravate her further, reminding her of the arms length he kept her at at almost all times, save for the few times she managed to sneak past it. She thought there was something more than regulations between them, but he seemed determined to turn a blind eye.

“He’s not you, Danse.” She nearly whispered, watching him for any change in his expression. He didn’t move his gaze, but his brows began to knit. She took it as a good sign and pushed her luck. “Before today, I thought... well, I thought there was something between us. I feel like a fool.” She chuckled ruefully, dropping her gaze again. “I thought you were hoping just as hard as I was to still be side by side. But seeing you so indifferent, relieved almost, that we aren’t has made me think otherwise.” She took a stabling breath, fidgeting with Nate’s ring on her holotag chain before daring another look at him. His smile had disappeared, something reminiscent of confliction replacing the proud countenance he’d sported moments before. The pain in his eyes had her words lodge in her throat and the burgeoning hope hurt more than she’d admit. When he opened his mouth as if to speak, she held up a hand.

“You should... you should go.” She nearly pleaded with him, staring not at his face but at the floor. She didn’t want to see that look on his face anymore, not when she finally had decided to accept that he would never reciprocate her feelings. After a pregnant moment, he left; his heavy steps carving their way into her heartbreak as they faded away. She refused to cry. She told herself she was stronger than that. She managed to hold it in as she prepped for bed mindlessly, but when she settled into her bunk the tears came unbidden and silently, she cried herself to sleep.

  



	3. I've Got You Under My Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under my Skin- Frank Sinatra

**Juliana**

Her Pipboy beeped angrily at her, earning her several aggravated groans from her bunkmates. With murmured apologies, she wiped the dried tears from her cheeks and made to get ready. She was to begin working for Maxson and she was not looking forward to it. The night before flickered into her mind and she wiped at the stray tear and berated herself for wasting precious water. By 0550 she was at his door in proper Brotherhood attire, an olive uniform because she would rather die than wear that orange atrocity. Her dark brown hair was in its usual bun and bangs framing her face. She wasn’t sure if she should knock or if she should announce her presence. The door swung open as she stood there debating.

“Knight. I was about to get someone to wake you.” He admitted, seeming taken aback by her promptness and frowning at assuredly being wrong in his assumptions. She was sure she should be insulted, but she didn’t feel it in her to be irate. 

“You ordered me to be here by 0600. In my experience, that often means before, Elder.” She saluted. Maxson eyed her outfit and gave a sound of approval before bading her welcome. She gulped and took a quick glance around the space. She’d expected the Elder’s quarters to be larger and better looking. It reminded her more of Nate’s college dorm; his bed was not made and there were so many bottles of a variety of alcohol she wouldn’t doubt if he was an alcoholic. She shoved the thought away before she could fall into that hole.

“Take a seat.” Maxson suggested, shutting the door behind them. It made her stomach twinge to think of being alone in a room with him. She took her seat at the table, the chair closest to the door and watched him as he collected a stack of files and rather abruptly tossed them in front of her. Looking from the stack to the arduous man, she noted the scrutiny. “Do have any questions, Knight?” He prompted at her inaction. The scrunch of his coat drawing her attention rather than his words, much to his apparent displeasure if his pout was any indication. He’d crossed his arms as he waited for her to get to work. 

“Yes, a few.” She almost glared at him, but softened it to pass as questioning. He nodded and she bit back the urge to roll her eyes at him. “What exactly are you asking me to do with this?” She gestured to the stack.

“Separate the important from the mundane requests. Organize them by the date and/or time they were sent in ascending order, oldest to new. Now, did that answer your questions?” He huffed, clearly displeased that he’d had to explain and acting as if it were common sense. His fingers rapped against the crease of his elbow. 

“Elder Maxson, before I begin, may I have permission to speak freely?” She smiled. He stared at her silently for a moment, hopefully considering her request.

“No. Finish that stack and perhaps I’ll change my mind.” He declared flippantly and sat at his terminal, wasting no time in clacking away at the keyboard. Juliana couldn’t believe him, but choked down her curses and grievances for the moment. If he wanted to act like a troublesome boss, she knew how to handle him.

  
  


**Maxson**

He could feel her  glaring daggers at him for a while, not that it bothered him. If she were foolish enough to do anything he could easily subdue her and send her to the brig for the day. He was waiting for her to break; to see her schooled composure crack and crumble. It was only a matter of time and then he could get rid of her; toss her back out for the Commonwealth to deal with her.

His terminal was full of reports from Cade to Teagan, spanning from requests for more stimpacks to suggesting they strongarm native farms into handing over supplies. He ground his teeth while reading the proposition Teagan had made. There was a reason the man was locked in a cage, rogue variable that he was. He deemed the mail unworthy of a reply, choosing instead to ignore it and if the Proctor brought it up again, it would be dealt with. Maxson almost flinched when he heard Harding start humming. It wasn’t loud, but loud enough to be heard from across his room. It wasn’t unpleasant, either, he found. He let her continue for a bit if only to indulge himself. With little preamble he turned in his chair to glare at her, but she was focused on the paperwork in front of her. The pile was nearly finished. A handful of papers were left, he noted. Some time passed as he watched her.

“Knight. Do you mind?” She’d jumped at the sound of his voice, a hand flying to her chest for some reason. Her lips parted in a quiet gasp, his eyes drawn to them when she licked her lips. He narrowed his eyes, feeling as if she were trying something. 

“Oh! You scared me. I’m sorry, Elder, I’ll try not to hum again.” She flashed him a meek smile, embarrassment evident in her blush. He stiffened, in uncharted territory, when she glanced back up at him and deepened her grin. 

“I see you’re almost finished.” He watched her nod and fan her hands delicately against the stacks, straightening them. “Do you still wish to speak freely?” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, biting the inside of his cheek. 

“Yes, I need to, in fact. Are you going to permit me, Elder Maxson?” She asked, emphasising her need and saying his name in a way that he wasn’t sure if he liked. He turned to face her completely and clenched his fists behind himself as he sat. She wasn’t breaking like he’d planned for her to and it disappointed him. 

“Fine, what do you need to say?” He huffed, still watching her with uncertainty and fully expecting a barrage of insults. She dropped her smile and cleared her throat as if preparing herself. 

“Would you like some coffee, Elder?” She purred, unsettling him. “Or perhaps, would you rather I fetch you breakfast? I for one am famished and could  _ die _ for some caffeine.” She cupped her chin in her hand as she laid her elbow on the tabletop. Maxson couldn’t control the stiff fidgeting that ensued. Perhaps he should have had breakfast prepared beforehand, having ordered her over at the break of dawn. He cleared his throat.

“There’s no need. I’ll arrange for someone to drop it off, shortly. Is that all you wanted to say?” He crossed his arms protectively across his chest. She shook her head, her bangs ruffling as she did so. 

“I had a few questions for you, as well. I hope you don’t mind my asking.” She added, almost like an afterthought. He had all but figured out her angle; she’d been trying to throw him by her change of attitude. Now that he’d figured that out, he doubled his defenses. 

“Go ahead.” He spoke smoothly. 

“Thank you. Having seen you for the first time only yesterday, I was surprised by your confidence and effortless command of your troops. You spoke with such  _ conviction _ , such  _ dedication _ , such...  _ gravitas _ , that a mere vault dweller such as myself couldn’t help but swoon. I thought you noticed because I failed to salute you in time with the others, in such a daze as I was. And then when you walked over and I knew you were the Elder, of course, but I thought my heart would stop. I know I hadn’t exactly responded well at the time, flustered as I was, but I just wanted you to know that I wholeheartedly believe you are the hero that the Commonwealth desires.”

“What are you playing at,  _ Knight _ ?” He growled. Maxson stood and leaned over the table, hands fists on the tabletop. She seemed to flounder for a second before correcting herself. 

“I’m-- I’m not playing at anything, I--” He watched her tear up and crumple into herself and second-guessed himself. Perhaps she was being honest? 

“Perhaps I’ve misjudged you.” He rushed to say before she was outright crying or something. She looked up at him, looking every bit sincere, before wiping her eyes on her sleeves. He still couldn’t push the feeling of her playing with him from his mind, but perhaps that was just his conditioned response. “I care for them, you know, the people of the Commonwealth.” He murmured, deciding that if she  _ was _ playing a game, that he could play too. He moved the seat from across the table to sit beside her. He folded his hands in front of himself, elbows on the table. He wasn’t expecting her to lay a hand over them and searched her face for anything disingenuous.

“I can see that. They’re playing with fire, and we need to save them.” She gave his hands a little squeeze. He was surprised by the breath he let out. 

“Exactly. I just hope we’re here in time.” He paused. “Seeing as Danse is one of my most respected field officers, you couldn’t get a better recommendation.”

“I’ll do my best to live up to it.” There was something in her voice that sounded real. After expecting her to fail to butter him up some more, it was a surprise. 

“That has yet to be seen.” He rose from his seat. “One moment, if you will.” He opened the door to his quarters and addressed the Knight standing guard to fetch two servings of breakfast and coffee. Shutting the door, the two of them were silent, as if in their own world again. He opened a filing cabinet and pulled out two more stacks of documents, much to her chagrin. “You are two complete these before 1000 hours when we will then be migrating to the Command Deck. Is there anything you wish to say, off the record as it were?” 

“Yes, one more. How old are you, exactly?” Maxson debated entertaining her with an answer and sat at his terminal once more. Papers shifting had told him his chance to answer had passed, so he cleared his throat. “20.” 

He worked his way through his incoming mail when a new mail arrived, he held back a sigh at having more to go through. It was from Cade, subject matter: Knight Harding, and suddenly he wasn’t so aggrieved. In it, Cade addressed her Pre-War status, taking him by surprise and cursing himself for forgetting to read Danse’s report yet again. Vault 111, it was in the Northwest side of the Commonwealth. He’d received no reports on it and made a note to ask Quinlan to send a research patrol to the location when his terminal received another mail.  _ Speak of the devil. _ It was from Quinlan, subject matter: Validity of Knight Harding’s Pre-War Status. Maxson resisted the urge to turn and glare at her in exasperation. She’d managed to rile up the worst Proctor and there would be no end to it. Quinlan detailed their interaction, seeming for all intents and purposes to be calling for her punishment. The Elder himself was glad that the nosey Proctor had been put in his place, and for once, not by him. Taking great pleasure in it, he confirmed her status, condemned him for his disbelief despite apparently corraborating with the good Knight-Captain, and ordered for the research patrol to Vault 111. He knew the Proctor was struggling to fill the spots in his research patrols, his mail full of complaints about it. 

“It would seem you’ve made a great impression with Proctor Quinlan.” He heard her muffle a groan and smiled at his terminal. 

“Proctor Quinlan seems to be a bigger fan of secondary resources than primary, it seems.” She murmured. 

“I hope you realize the can of worms you’ve opened.” He heard her hands pause in their motions and her hushed expletive. 

Their breakfast arrived before long and they took a break to eat it. Maxson downed the mirelurk omelet and coffee with militarian efficiency, pausing only once to watch how slowly she ate. She cut bitesize pieces from the omelet and sipped her coffee, savoring them both. It was a spectacle that only served to cement that she was Pre-War. As he waited for her to finish eating, something he did on a whim, he took note of other Pre-War tics she had shown him inadvertently. She tended to bow forward when she saluted. When she walked it seemed as though she glided, instead of cautiously as everyone else did. How it took her 30 minutes to finish a meal was by far the most striking one.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Cap for your thoughts?  
> Comments are appreciated.


	4. Don't Know Why I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I Wonder Why- Dion & The Belmonts

**Danse**

The Paladin sipped at the second whiskey he’d procured from Proctor Teagan, his stash had been cleared in his time away from the Prydwen. He was alone sitting on the Foredeck. The wind whipped at his face but he hardly felt it. The cold was biting but he could thank the whiskey for not being able to feel it, that and the bomber jacket he’d thought to put on. Had he been wrong to spurn her advances? She still carried her wedding rings with her. She was a grieving wife. Danse was ashamed that he’d wanted to accept her flirtations when she was still clearly missing her husband, right? To her, it’d only been maybe eight months since he’d been killed. Taking another healthy swig he groaned, remembering her face when he’d left her. She looked like she was on the verge of tears and he’d wanted to comfort her, but there were people around and he told himself that it wasn’t his place.  _ Fool. Absolute buffoon. _ He ground his palms into his eyes. He’d be feeling the whiskey in the morning, definitely. At least the hangover will give him something to distract from his mounting guilt. 

He thought back to her comment on hoping to stay together and swallowed a sigh. He’d wanted nothing more than to become her CO, but perhaps it was better this way. With his affections, even if he never acted on them, it wasn’t right for there to be feelings involved. He could be accused of favoritism or put on trial for potential abuse of authority. In his drunken state he pondered the thought that wanting to be her CO was a misconstrued interpretation of wanting to be her partner. 

He went to drink and decided against it, having already drank a whole fifth and halfway done the second. Swishing the amber liquid around the bottle sparked indignation within him. When did she managed to become so damn important to him? Why her? He hadn’t let anyone close like that since Cutler and look how that ended. Wanting to release some of the tension he was building he glared down at the bottle, rose woozily,  and with all his might, threw it as far as he can with a growl. He was thoroughly in the hole and sighed. He dragged his hands down his face and struggled to stay upright. 

He concluded that he was a fool. As he put all his effort into staying upright, he lumbered his way back into the Prydwen, ignoring the questioning looks from his brothers and sisters. He glared at Maxson’s door as if it had offended him. He thought of the two of them together, serving to add fuel to the fire.  _ Fucking Maxson. _ His unfiltered thoughts provided. He stumbled into his quarters, closing the door behind him with supreme focus on closing it as quietly as possible. Turning around had his room spinning and he wondered when the last time he’d been as drunk was. In the state he was in, he managed to have the foresight to place a purified water beside his bed, along with a bucket. His bed was the most welcoming sight, the thought of sweet oblivion more intoxicating than the whiskey. Nevermind his night terrors, drunken slumber pulled at him as he crawled onto the mattress that was too small for him. He lay on his stomach, feet dangling over the end of the bed, arm hanging off the bed with the other under his ratty pillow. He opened his eyes and groaned when he remembered the lights were still on. He was wasting precious electricity and ever conscientious, fell out of bed with a thunk and picked himself up to turn off the light. Now in complete darkness, it was nigh impossible to keep his balance. A part of him suggested getting onto all fours so as to not keel over and he crawled over to his bed and promptly passed out. 

His waking moments were those of vomiting, grabbing the bucket in the nick of time. Regret was all he could feel, but at least his quarters were dark. He tried to control his breathing in an effort to negate the nausea. His head throbbed and he blindly groped around for the water. It was better than anything should rightfully be. The cool liquid clearing his mouth of the acidic traces of vomit and purifying his soul. When he finished it and didn’t immediately have another readily available, he rose with a groan. Yes, the water had helped, but it didn’t fix the throbbing. His stomach growled, reminding him that he needed fuel. He didn’t want to leave his room in the state he was in. He needed a shower. Needing a shower as his drive to move, he gathered up his grooming supplies and made for the airport. He was glad that they’d rigged up working showers with some warm-ish water as well. It wasn’t as hot as he’d liked once he’d entered the stream, but it was warm enough to not induce frostbite. The water was dark, filled with dirt and sweat as it disappeared down the drain, he’d hoped more went with it. If only he could wash away the hangover. He’d trimmed his beard once he was finished. He felt refreshed despite the pounding of his head and finally found it within himself to head to the mess. It was sparsely populated since it was already 0900 hours, well past morning mess. Still, he found leftovers and reheated a cup of coffee that was downed almost immediately. Three coffees later and he mostly felt like himself again and debated what to spend the rest of his day with. 

His thoughts almost immediately went to Knight Harding and he wanted to kick his own ass for thinking that a night drowning in whiskey would help anything. He glared at his now empty cup of coffee, dwarfed within both of his hands. He meandered over to Quinlan’s and asked if there were any ‘useless’ documents well-meaning scribes had brought. Quinlan had been more than happy to unload nearly a stack of old-world fiction books. He read the spines and noted that he’d already read a few of them but that there were a good number that he hadn’t. Spending the day lost in a good book was ideal with his head still pounding from the minor movements of walking with a pep in his step. 

Maxson was exiting his quarters, thoroughly engrossed in conversation with who Danse assumed was Harding. When Maxson moved out of the way, his hunch proved right and his stomach burned. She was carrying a stack of loose papers and seemed all too cheery for what had went down the night before. Danse slowed his approach to his own room to watch their interaction and glowered when she smiled so brightly at the other man, going so far as to giggle before catching the sight of him. He bit down on his tongue to neutralize his foul expression and continued his way to his room. Her toothy smile had fallen into a lilt of the lips by the time Elder Maxson had turned to see what or who had caught her attention. 

“Paladin, quite the armful of literature you’ve got there.” The Elder remarked. Danse found it within himself to chuckle as if caught red handed. “I’m glad to see you truly utilizing your off day. Try not to read them all at once, hmm?” Danse nodded, chancing a glance at Juliana and struggled not to mimic her frown. “Enjoy yourself enough for the both of us.” Danse didn’t miss how the Elder gestured toward the woman and puffed out his chest. Danse narrowed his eyes before disappearing into his room. The books landed on his desk with a hollow thud and he’d all but lost interest in touching them, reviling them. He sat and glared at the offending novels because he couldn’t glare at the Elder. 

Thinking of the Elder made him think of her and her ridiculous smile she had for him. It’d been picturesque but because it wasn’t for him it was unwanted. He ran his hand through his hair, releasing a harsh breath. He was a mess and he knew it. He was letting his feelings of all things get the better of him and it wasn’t like him in the slightest. His brothers and sisters both boasted of his stalwart dedication to the Brotherhood and here he was wanting to suckerpunch the Elder. Danse vigorously shook his head at the thought, as if it would change the validity of it. It was something he didn’t want to admit to himself. He groaned into his hands as he leaned back in his chair. This was all her fault and he wanted to blame her but he knew he couldn’t. He deflated more. She was ruining him. His years of successfully keeping emotional distance, all for naught because of this little spitfire. He’d tried to keep her at a distance, but she’d barrelled through and buried herself in his thoughts. 

He tried to rationalize it. That because she was Pre-War, it was the novelty that drew him to her, but then he’d remember her fierceness on the field and grumbled at the pulse he felt in his nethers. Perhaps he’d been drawn to her because of her beauty. There was definitely no one who could match her. Maybe that singer Magnolia, but just barely. Even admitting his carnal attraction to her, he knew it was more than that. It was the way she laughed, her quick wit, her kindness and compassion, her unforgiving nature, her willingness to fight for those who couldn’t,  _ her _ . 

He couldn’t deny it anymore. Sighing, he resigned himself to the fact that he loved her. He could love her from afar, he told himself. It would kill him, but he could do it. He convinced himself that her feelings for him wouldn’t last; that they were merely a byproduct of their proximity and that separation would negate it. Feeling the anger drain from him at his resignation, he picked a book from the stack, not bothering to read the cover or what was left of it. 

_ “In one kiss, you’ll know all I haven’t said.” _

He frowned. 

_ "I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,  _

_ I love you simply, without problems or pride:  _

_ I love you in this way because I don’t know any other way of loving.” _

He took a deep breath and decided that maybe it wasn’t all the same and flipped the page.

_ “I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.”  _

Now in a worse mood than when he began, he closed the book and deduced the title.  _ 100 Love Sonnets- Pablo Nerudo. _ Tossing it back onto the table, he lost all interest in reading. Knowing that with his luck he’d gotten a stack of romance novels or books of love poems. He cursed Quinlan. He dropped into a push up position and got to it, focusing on the burn after it set in and fighting through it. He worked through his usual routine, the monotony therapeutic. He was thoroughly drenched and needing another shower after the last rep. Devouring two waters, he realized he must have sweat out the hangover because his migraine was gone. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his shirt. 

The errant craving for whiskey was numbing but welcoming. A sigh escaped him at remembering he’d thrown a good bottle of whiskey overboard and wished he'd had the foresight to save it. Danse pursued his lips in a frown as he convinced himself he'd only have a shot or two before tinkering with his power armor a bit. To do that he'd have to drop by Teagan's again and risk getting a visit from Cade for overindulgence. He told himself that after all the loss he'd had to bear before the Prydwen arrived that it was excusable to find a moment's reprieve. As he zipped his suit back up and headed for his destination he grumbled to himself that at least it wasn't chems he was indulging in. 

It was just his luck to run into Ingram along the way. He clenched his jaw when she noticed him. She gave him a thorough once over before harrumphing.

“You look like shit.” At least he could always count on her to give it to him straight. 

“Thanks, Ingram. Sleep escaped me last night and I'm unaccustomed to the idleness of rest.” He lied to her face and by the tightening of her expression she knew. 

“If you've got nothin’ better to do I got some suits that could do for some fixing up.” She grumbled, unintentionally or potentially intentionally saving him from drinking himself to death before noon. His shoulders dropped in relief of having almost orders and got to it. He eyed the first one. It's chest plating bore the indentations of .38's if he'd spare a guess. The glass of the visor on the helmet needed to be replaced, most likely shattered from an impact. “The right elbow actuator on that one got misaligned. The Knight thought she was a damn hero, going against a patch of raiders while on patrol to the west. Apparently she was doing well until a yao guai knocked her on her ass.” Ingram kindly informed him. Danse frowned at the foolishness, knowing all too well that the Knight had been lucky to survive. He only hoped she'd gotten away unscathed. 

“Seeing as to how the armors survived, I assume the same could be said about the Knight?” He asked, concern getting the better of him as he got to working. 

“Oh, she's nursing a broken arm now. She was lucky her fellow Knight was there to put the beast out of its misery.” Ingram hollered from where she was busy fixing her own banged up power armor. The story reminded him of something Juliana might get herself into. The thought soured his better mood. He had been thankful for the distraction until then. “So what's the story with Knight Harding, huh? Got a mail that she'd be under Maxson now. Know anything about that?” He should have known better than to expect peace with Ingram. 

“He's decided to take her on as a protégée.”

“Don't be a ‘lurk and tell me the nitty gritty.” Exasperation heavy in her voice as she looked over the tables and boxes between them to eyeball him. He was still crouched at the side of the power armor but his grip on the wrench in his hand had his knuckles whitening before he consciously had to relax. 

“There’s nothing to say. The Elder made a decision and we have to abide by that.” His tone brusque. When she didn't say anything he risked a look at her. It was the wrong thing to do and had him bristling further despite himself. She was too perceptive sometimes. 

“If that's so, why do you look like you've got the brown bottle flu, huh?” The wrench clanged as he essentially threw it into the toolbox and fished out a screwdriver without gracing her with a reply. He heard her snort. “Well whatever the reason, I've got a bottle of rum with our name on it. Nothing quite like a stiff drink to numb the hangover.” She meandered back to her work. “Finish those suits and don't even think about runnin’ away.”


	5. Nobody's Crying But Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's All Over But The Crying- The Ink Spots

**Juliana**

Finally freed from the clutches of the beast, she stifled a yawn. The man had dragged her through every one of his bureaucratic commitments claiming to orient her to her duties. She felt like she was being paraded around like a show dog rather than for his supposed excuses. By Kells constant scowl at her presence, she didn't think the Lancer-Captain could dislike her more. 

The only remedy for her day would be a box of sugar bombs. She rummaged around the mess hoping to commandeer a box to avoid Teagan. The man had rubbed her the wrong way, especially after Maxson had hinted at the man's plans to ransack farms to feed the soldiers. Her search left her empty handed and begrudgingly making her way to Teagan's cage. She wasn't trying to be sneaky, but the sound of a familiar rumbling had her holding her breath and lightening her steps. She couldn't make out any words but could tell it was Danse. A rough feminine laugh had her stomach in knots. It was obviously Ingram, with the proximity of the bay and her quarters to Teagan's. 

“Well look what the cat dragged in.” Teagan drawled, either oblivious to her turmoil or enjoying it. She jumped at the sound of his voice, the muffled voices quieting. She bit her curses, knowing they could probably hear the exchange. 

“Speaking of, hows the hamster cage?” She snarked, trying to cover up her surprise. He just looked at her in confusion.  _ I guess hamsters definitely aren't around anymore.  _ “Be careful now, you're looking more like Scribe Neriah's mole rats every time I see you.” He definitely understood that. 

“I take it you're not here for a chat then, what are you looking to buy?” He grumbled, though not with a twinkle in his eye at her gumption.  _ I thought he’d be mad, guess not. _ Juliana sauntered up to the counter in an attempt to butter him up. 

“Well, Proctor, I was really hoping you had a box of sugar bombs stashed somewhere in there. You wouldn't happen to have any do you?” She leaned on the counter and looked up at him through her lashes, batting them for added effect. “I'd do almost anything for a box.” He rose a brow at her obvious proposition before busting out a whole body laugh. She sighed and straightened at her failed charisma attempt but chuckled alongside him. 

“You're a real trip, girl. You just made this old man's night.” He pretended to wipe a stray tear. She did an exaggerated bow. 

“I'm glad you found it funny, but I really would kill for some sugar bombs. Please tell me you have them.” All tricks dropped in her desperation for the sweet sugary snack. He seemed to debate it long enough for her to question if he'd hold out.

“Don't tell anyone where you got ‘em, they'll be coming to raid my stash.” He handed her a box and she could have hugged him. “Yeah, yeah. Keep it in your pants.” He joked when he saw the look in her eyes as he collected her caps and shooed her away.

As she made her getaway, loot in tow, she tried not to dwell on the cold biting ache in her chest as she passed Ingram’s again. She tried not to wonder why he was with Ingram so late and what they were laughing about. She tried to tell herself she had no reason to be jealous because there was nothing between her and Danse and that he was free to do as he pleased, but that just made the jealousy take a possessive edge. He was her Paladin. 

She’d learned the hard way that if something was yours, you fought tooth and nail to keep it. In the world she’d found herself in, nothing was certain unless you made it so. A junkie was just as certain to slit your throat for stealing as a Deathclaw was to behead you for wandering into its territory. 

She plopped unceremoniously on her bunk and stared at the unopened box, letting her thoughts wander to what could have been. Images of falling asleep together; waking up to find he'd woken up first; the tender smile he'd give her and the gentle kiss to follow. Perhaps she was just craving the intimacy she'd had with Nate, but it wasn't Nate she was imagining. Such intimacy was a thing of the past anyway, no one would be so guardless in post-apocalyptia. She wouldn’t be able to have him the way she wanted even if she did have him.

Defeated tears came unbidden and a few dropped into the box of sugar bombs before she wiped them away and got ready for bed. Her jealousy was gone, replaced by emptiness. She'd long since lost her appetite. The tink of her rings clanging against her holotags drew her attention. She took off the beaded necklace and detached the rings before she could think against it, stashing them in her pack gently and laying a kiss on them before she did. It was time to let old things die. 

 

The sound of her Pipboy alarm going off woke her up to mark the start of another day in the Commonwealth. She groaned and wished she could afford to snooze it. It felt as though sleep had just found her just long enough to torture her. She’d set her alarm fifteen minutes earlier to give her a chance to take her time getting ready. After tossing her hair up in a messy bun, she managed to snag her sugar bombs and set to munch, enjoying a hot cup of coffee to moisten the dry cereal. Her morning drink complete and mess beginning to fill, she fetched two cups of coffee and headed to Maxson's. 

“Reporting for duty, Elder Maxson, sir.” It was quiet inside as she awaited a response. “Elder Maxson?” A startled groan from within had her brows raising. Some shuffling and the door cracked open, the room still dark she toed her way inside and set the coffees down. With no natural light, the room was nearly pitch black, save for the light pouring through the door. To her right she could hear the Elder zipping what she assumed to be his jumpsuit. The thought had her clearing her throat and attempting a frown to cool her face and banish the image. “I brought coffee.” She was graced with a monotone grunt and the lights turning on. After her eyes adjusted she found him sitting on his bed rubbing his face. His coat appeared to be laid across the other side of the table. She gulped upon realizing that his size wasn't all due to the coat. Even sat on the bed as he was, his head came up to right under her chest and she took a slow, deep breath at what the realization did to her. He squinted at her as if just realizing her presence, pillow marks still visible on his face. 

“Do you have  _ any _ idea what time it is?” He sounded scolding but the effect was lost in his yawn that he finished with a vigorous shake of his head. Maybe it helped him wake up. Her chest warmed at the thought and sight of him. He looked less intimidating and more a young man freshly woken. It solidified the unseemly thoughts she was having about him. “It can't be 0600 yet.” Maxson adamantly scowled and stretched, his chest broadening.

“Its 0546. I had spare time so I get us some coffee. Would you rather I go loiter the mess some more while you, uh, finish?” She handed the coffee to him, impressing herself with the evenness of her voice. He looked at it in his hands and uttered a noncommittal grunt before rising. 

“Stay.” He stressed, staring at her with lidded eyes. “You're a little early, but that's fine.”  He sighed. “You'll have to deal with catching me in a state of undress if you insist on coming before 0600, though.” He looked away and fleetingly glanced at her before looking away again. She had an inkling that that was what he wanted to happen. “Bitter.” He sipped the coffee and grimaced. It appeared he had a sweet tooth, she noted. He shrugged his coat on and ran a hand through his hair as if to tame it. After a second he looked back up at her and let himself eye her in his waking state. Her skin tingled under her suit. “Eager, are you?” His voice still rough from sleep did things to her. Things that had her blushing at the double entendre he probably hadn't meant. His self satisfied crinkle to his eyes and slight lilt of his lips at her blushing had her believing he had. 

“Yes, the sooner I finish compiling all of your backed up paperwork the sooner I get back to the action. Am I correct in assuming that?” She cleared her throat and willed her cheeks to cool, her eyes peered into his and daring him to continue his act. The Elder frowned and his face grew pinched and he broke from their stare-down first. 

“I don't see why not.” They sat across from each other. “Do you need to see Cade, you seem to have a cough.” She blanched and hurried to reject the idea.

“No, I’m fine. I just-- I can't even begin to tell you how much I'm looking forward to it.” He side eyed her warily as if she'd suggested something outrageous, though he did nod his assent. 

“I find myself surprised to hear you say that. I'd thought you relieved to be out of the muck and disorder.” She frowned and studied her cup. He wasn't wrong in assuming that, but she felt as if she was being coddled for her status. 

“Oh I am unbelievably thankful to not step in mutant shit on a daily basis. I couldn't believe the stench and stickiness of the stuff.” She scrunched up her face at the memory. “I am thankful, but I need to stay acclimated to this world. It wouldn't do to lose the hard earned ground I've gained at Danse's behest.” Her voice grew weary and she rubbed her neck. She was glad he spoke before she could wallow again. 

“If you fear you are beginning to devolve please,” he emphasized with a pointed look, “do not fear discussing it with me. I'd be more than happy to give you a run for your caps.” There was a fondness in his voice she hadn’t expected. Was he turning her game around on her, the bastard? Infuriated is what she should have felt, but instead a warmth surge in her and a sudden meekness.

“Oh, I couldn’t. You’re always so busy from dawn to dusk. I’d hate to cause myself more work, too.” She murmured. His warm chuckle had her squirming under his watchful eye. 

“Nonsense. It’d be great for me to fly the coop for a bit. I’m ashamed to say the Prydwen can get a bit stuffy.” She gambled raising her eyes from their downward gaze and lost the bet. He was leaning a shoulder against the wall with his cup covering the bottom of his face. She pouted, knowing the tables had turned over night. 

“I was hoping to get a chance to spar with Paladin Danse.” She kept her expression neutral as she gauged his reaction. His hand had tightened its grip on the mug, his easy countenance now guarded. 

“Then I am afraid you will have to wait.” She bristled at his sharp tone. 

“Why is that, Elder?” He hummed and took his time sitting at his terminal. His silence raised her alarms. 

“He’s preoccupied directing his Squad. It’s unsurprising that the increased activity at the Cambridge Police Station has drawn the attention of the faction known as the Gunners. The mercenaries believe we’ve encroached on their stomping ground, so--”

“I had the impression we’d be assigned missions together.” He faced her interruption and regarded her at her displeased tone.

“It’s funny. You both say the same things and are just as bothered by the separation.” His brows furrowed, apparently she’d upset him. “Almost as though you mean more to each other than compatriots.” He was repeating his original doubt of Danse’s sponsorship. She grit her teeth.

“Paladin Danse is an honorable man, dedicated to the Brotherhood and only the Brotherhood. If you have any doubts over the reason for my sponsorship, know that I have earned it.” The bitterness in her voice was unmistakable in its origin.

“Perhaps you have misunderstood; I do not doubt his loyalty, but it sounds as though you are... disappointed by it.” His expression that of guarded curiosity and something else she didn’t have the mind to decipher. She was too busy glowering and picking at her nails. 

“Perhaps I am.” She blurted impatiently, done with the circuitous pandering. “May I speak freely, sir?” He nodded and was certainly more congenial than before and she found herself suspicious to why. “Before the arrival of the Prydwen I had felt as though there was something between us, the Paladin and I, but then your glorified blimp came in and threw those hopes to the wind. Whatever I had thought he had felt for me was simply projection and I’ve only just recently voiced my discontent over the loss. I’m sure you’ll be overjoyed to know I was... well, I don’t know. All I know is that I haven’t talked to the Paladin since then and have cried myself to sleep almost every night since I opened my big fucking mouth. So yes, I guess you could say I’m disappointed.” Her arms were crossed protectively across her chest. She should question the relaxing of his countenance at her outburst, but she didn’t care enough to. “But don’t worry, Elder. There is no longer anything tying the Paladin and I together, not anymore.” 

“I’m not worried about your attachment to Paladin Danse. I’m merely stupefied that his devotion was enough to deny you.” Maxson adjusted his coat. It seemed to be an idiosyncrasy of his. “It is unfortunate that you are suffering, but you must know that fraternization during wartime is frowned upon.” Juliana shrunk in her chair. “But it still happens, mind you.” He seemed in a rush to add at her sullen silence. 

“Not often enough for Danse to let it slide.” She snorted petulantly.

“Yes, perhaps not him, but others do.” 


	6. Getting to Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to Know You- Julie Andrews

**Juliana**

After her confession, Maxson was very obviously treating her with kiddy gloves. He was acting nicer; giving her slack and less work. One night he’d even offered a night of drinks, to which she had to kindly decline. Her inquiries on Danse’s efforts at the station were met with careful and terse answers. At least he’d let her partake in patrolling the airport, though she’d wanted to bolt at the soonest opportunity. Danse would be furious that she’d deserted and the potential abhorrence had her staying put. 

It had only been a few weeks, but under the controlling Elder it felt like months. 

She’d excused herself from another logistics meetings, knowing she wouldn’t be missed. A well meaning scribe had reported something called a Sentinel Site that had the firepower they needed, but remarked that it was deep into the Glowing Sea and recommended sending Danse’s Squad. Leaning her elbows on the railing of the vertibird bay, she took deep, measured breaths and overlooked the place she’d once called home but now hardly recognized. Juliana took inventory of her surroundings. The air smelt of ozone and immediately froze her nose. The now 500 something year old fort was across the bay and she wondered why the Prydwen hadn’t chosen that over the airport. If she strained her eyes enough she could spot the white watertower of Concord despite the overzealous lights of Corvega Assembly Plant making it harder to make out. She studied the decrepit buildings that were around where Goodneighbor should be and wished she’d had Hancock with her. He’d have just what she needed to forget because she had a gut feeling she couldn’t shove it away this time. Fenway, the Great Green Jewel, and the brightest thing in the Commonwealth continued to spew out light pollution like the Glowing Sea spewed radstorms. 

She eyed the green aurora to the west at the sardonic thought. The local lore was that it was where the bombs dropped and how right they were. The first time she’d been told that, she’d had to leave mid conversation to throw up and let the panic attack run its course. She missed Nate, he’d know just what to say to calm her down. The thought tore her to the core and she swallowed a sob. Letting out a breath, she was too lost in her head to hear the Elder approach. 

“Do you mind explaining--” He’d started in a fit before halting at the sight of her clear distress. She hadn’t really heard him anyway and started when he came and stood beside her. 

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t--” She sniffled and wiped her face, trying to pack up her break down for another time. 

“I should be reprimanding you for leaving an important meeting along with the Fort Strong incident.” He said after a time of them looking out on the Commonwealth. “But I find myself more concerned with why you were crying.” His words were an attempt to coax her into letting him in, another in a string of failed attempts, but she wasn’t in her right mind from the emotional whiplash of compartmentalization. She searched within herself, but couldn’t find a reason not to open up. 

“Do you know what the locals think the Glowing Sea is?” She decided to start with, face deceptively pleasant. Her hands gripped the freezing railing until her knuckles were white to ground herself. 

“I don’t take much stock in the rumors of wastelanders.” His candidness had her chortling. Though the muted lights cast their faces in the dark, she knew he was pouting at her. 

“That’s exactly what I thought you’d say.” A laugh still evident in her voice before returning to flippant. “They say that it’s ground zero; that that’s where the bomb dropped.” Her throat had began to tighten but her resolve didn’t waver. “And it was.” She gave him time to say something as she continued to gather her thoughts, the memories pulling the tears back. “It was a perfect day, no cloud in the sky. Never in our wildest dreams did we think it was the last day sunny day we’d spend in our house together. We were getting ready to start the day when the air raid sirens went off. So many of our neighbors couldn’t make it to safety. If they weren’t on the list for the vault, they were barred entry. Nate was, well, he was Nate. Ever the soldier, he’d tried to calm our neighbors the best he could, but we were all inconsolable. I’ll never forget the blinding white explosion  and the blistering wind. For a second it was as if all the turmoil and crying around me had stopped. They’d hardly managed to send us down in time. I’m sure they all died painfully, ghoulification and all that.” Juliana wiped her face on her sleeve, the biting wind so high up nearly making her tears freeze. “I’m sorry for leaving by the way, I just couldn’t keep it together for much longer.” 

“I understand, but let’s get inside, hmm?” Maxson suggested, laying his hands around her shoulders to guide her, giving them a quick squeeze. 

The walk back to his quarters was solemn and silent, save for the passing greetings and questioning looks at his hand on her lower back. She was sure people would talk about her state of dishevel if they weren’t already. Maxson’s domineering presence kept them from doing so within earshot if that were the case. Once inside his room, he shifted the chairs to be side by side at the table and poured them both a shot of whiskey. 

“Thank you for telling me about it.” He grimaced at his inelegance and slid into the seat. “About what you’ve had to live through. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.” She commandeered the bottle and poured herself two shots before gracing him with a response. 

“That’s one way to put it; my entire life obliterated before my very eyes and helplessly watching my husband murdered. And oh, waking up and seeing the destruction and finding out two hundred fucking years have passed. I almost put the pistol in my mouth right then and there, but could get myself to pull the trigger.” The sound of his terminal and the hum of the Prydwen filled the silence. “It’s crazy to think that wasn’t even a year ago yet.”

“What was he like, your husband?” She tried to hide the pain at the past tense. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“No, it’s fine. Nate was a goofball, always trying to get me to laugh. He was a good man, a rare thing back then. It was common for married men to have mistresses but not Nate, he used to tell me that marrying me wasn’t the end, as bachelors liked to say, but the beginning of our life together. His time in the military broke something in him, but he always made me feel safe, just having him near was enough.” She rubbed her pointer finger along the rim of the glass, the scant amount of whiskey pooling as she held it. “But he’s gone, and I have to learn to move on. Clinging to the past is what gets you killed, and Nate would have wanted me to live.” Maxson shifted in his seat beside her. 

“Have you given him a burial?” The wave of grief nearly consumed her at the thought and she shook her head.

“No, he’s still in the vault frozen as he is. That place is a tomb, and his final resting place.” Maxson hummed and took the whiskey, bypassing his glass and taking a few fortifying gulps. He laid both hands palms down on the table in front of him, his glass between them, and stared determinedly ahead.

“I know what it feels like to lose somebody important. The Elder before me was Elder Lyons, but I knew her as Sarah. I think my infatuation began after she’d taught me a technique to kill a man by stabbing him in the kidneys. I must have been around ten or so at the time because she was still Sentinel. She’d replaced her father as Elder upon his death because she was a Sentinel. I had been overjoyed for her at the time. The rank of Elder was second only to the High-Elders and held a great prestige. In my eyes, she hung the stars in the sky. But the weight of being an Elder is a hefty one and she died not long after her inauguration. The last time I saw her was just before she died. She’d been going on a mission to speak with the Outcasts, a sect that broke from our chapter due to differing interpretations of the Codex. She assured me she would be back before long and told me to listen to my CO. 

“When I heard she’d fallen in battle, supposedly by Super Mutants, I snuck out of the Citadel with the plan to take revenge. I didn’t get far before a Squad had been dispatched to retrieve me. My rage when they’d found me had attracted the attention of a roaming Deathclaw and half the Squad was dead before anyone could react. The monstrosity wheeled on me and had it not been for the quick reaction of the Knight guarding me I would have died, instead I got this scar. I hadn’t realized the extent of the damage, the adrenaline numbed the pain as well and after the Paladin of the Squad drew the attention of the Deathclaw, I climbed the overhanging ledge. I got a running start and jumped onto the beasts head and braced myself by clinging to a horn and stabbed it through the eye with a knife I’d hidden in my boot. It felt like forever and I’d thought my eardrums would burst at the death howl it gave as it collapsed. The rest is a blur, but I’m sure you get the point.” Her heart ached for him and made her suffering pale in the comparison. “Grief can make us lose ourselves, but the only way to survive is to keeping thinking of the future, even if it’s a future that’s unwanted.” She wanted to say something, anything to offer some comfort. His story reminded her of the tragedy of growing up in post-apocalyptia and also how young he was. 

“I’m... sorry to hear that. I’m sure she was a good person and deserved much better.” She squeezed his hand for emphasis and hoped the amount of sympathy she was giving was convincing. He looked down at their joined hands with a blank look on his face before turning his hand to squeeze hers back. He cleared his throat and acknowledged what she’d said, still holding her hand.

“She was, and I’m sure Nate was too. Sarah saw me as nothing more than a little brother, but Nate, he had you. It’s wrong to be jealous of a dead man, but I find that I am, nonetheless. He was a lucky man to have married you.” His harsh blue eyes were soft as he spoke, his voice just as gentle. Her breath faltered in her throat and she froze. She couldn’t meet his gaze, knowing it would be game changing if she did. Instead she cleared her throat and took her hand back, running them along her thighs as if to smooth a skirt that wasn’t there. 

“I’m flattered that you think so. I’m sure he would have agreed with you.” She made a show of checking the time. “Oh dear, it’s quite late. I promised Ingram I’d help her with something. I should get going--” Juliana lied and made to stand. Her escape was halted by the Elder’s hand beseeching her to stay. She gulped and with her body still facing the door she chanced a look back at him. His lips were parted and his eyes wide as if he’d acted without thinking. He released her as if burned but she stayed to hear him out.

“It’s nearly time for dinner. Stay, please.” It looked as if it killed him to beg by the frown etching his face as he turned his head slightly as if to gesture to his room. A part of her wanted to spurn his advances again, but found herself not hating the idea this time. Her taking her seat once more had the both of them blanking on the next move, her out of struggling to decide whether it was a good idea and him out of being unprepared for her to accept. It was Maxson who broke the bewildered silence when he opened the door and ordered for two settings of dinner to be sent to his quarters. He stood at the door after he’d shut it before returning to the seat at her side. “So, what was your favorite thing to have for dinner before?” Juliana regarded him in complete confusion until he clarified.

“Ah, before the End of the World. Well, there was such a variety of choices; Italian, Chinese, Japanese, Spanish; I could never pick a real favorite, though I did have a preference for a mean lo mein when I was in college.” A wistful sigh escaped her and she leaned her chin into her hand and flicked her eyes to him and at his silence cocked her head. “What’s yours?” He looked at her with what could be taken as surprise before clearing his throat.

“Ribeye steak with Instamash and Squirrel Stew are up there.” He fixed her with a questioning look at her ensuing snicker.

“You seem like a steak and potatoes kind of guy, but I’m sure there are more questions where that came from. What’s next?” She had to say, his question certainly had lightened the mood. 

“What are questions people used to ask to get to know one another?” He sighed in amused defeat after he couldn’t come up with something. She smiled like the cat who ate the canary. 

“What’s your favorite color? What kind of music do you like? Are you religious? Do you like Nuka Cola or Vim? Dogs or cats? Burgers or hotdogs?”

“Those are awfully superficial.” Maxson harrumphed. “But what were your answers to those questions?” 

“Now that’s just rude, I asked you first, Maxson.” She pouted.

“Arthur. Call me Arthur.”


	7. Love Is A Thing You Never Can Share When You Bring A Friend Into Your Love Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's When Your Heartache Begins- The Ink Spots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> combined chapters 7 and 8 for coherency's sake.

**Danse**

His mission to clear Kendall hospital of raider scum had gone awry before he could take any action to stop it. The Knight’s he’d taken with him were still relatively wet behind the ears in the manacles of the Commonwealth; still new to the landscape and the locals. He’d advised them to remain vigilant, only to be the one to cause their downfall. They’d managed to enter the building without issue a few hours after nightfall. It surprised him that there were no raiders guarding the entrance, only a few bloodbugs sucking the lifeblood from a dead brahmin. There was a chalk symbol on a piece of wood near the door in the shape of a star with a house in the middle, for what he didn’t know.

The entrance appeared to be a back door of sorts, boxes of medical supplies catching their Scribes attention. After allowing the Scribe the time to collect, they opened up the next door to find themselves in a short hallway. There was a door with a terminal locking it that, with the Scribes help, opened only to be blocked by a knocked over shelf. They’d yet to come across any raiders, so they chose to leave it be.

“Huh?” The first raider they came across grew wary from the thumping of their Power Armors. Nothing they could do about it. Danse had Knight Gibbons take point and he dispatched the raider without problem except that the sound from the ordeal attracted the attention of the other raiders. Faces covered by Assault Gas Masks entered the fray, shooting at them with combat rifles and swiping at them with machetes in close quarters. When they entered the main area, a bonfire was burning in the middle with bodies cooking in it. Danse turned his face up at the sight, the smell of burning flesh revolting. They were fired on from above. Danse ordered them to run from the counter they were using as cover to the makeshift walled area. They made it, but not without injury. The turret above them had hit the Field Scribe in the calf. Danse shoved away the guilt to quickly bandage it and administer a stimpack before ordering them to continue. Knight Gibbons attempted to take the turret down but couldn’t get a clear shot from the angle they were at.

The area led to what seemed to be an old shop and a broken wall leading to a bathroom let them continue onward.

“Sir, there appears to be a Protectron we could utilize, what are your orders?” The Field Scribe, Scribe Everett asked. Danse wasn’t one to rely on bots for supporting fire and denied the usage of it, citing his reasoning as the Protectron couldn’t be guaranteed not to fire on them as well. The Scribe frowned but followed orders nonetheless.

They were at a good enough angle to remove the turret and did so, sustaining only minor damages to their Power Armors. The area was clear of hostiles, but there was still more of the hospital to cover.

“Fucking raiders. Disgusting.” Gibbons spat, glaring at the burning bodies of innocent settlers and traders. The headless bodies thrown haphazardly into the flames. “At least the monsters took out some Gunners.” He commented, having spotted the telltale armor in the mess. Danse frowned.

“If they are strong enough to take out Gunners, then we are facing a formidable force here. Let’s continue.” He said and headed to the stairs. The way down was blocked by garbage. The only way was up. They easily reached where the turret had been and collected the materials, a military grade circuit board was worth a lot to Teagan and had the components needed to fix their gear. The ground rumbled. There was an elevator at the end of the hallway and a small room containing a decommissioned synth. Danse sneered at the abomination. They entered the elevator two at a time, unable to fit all them with Power Armor equipt. Danse and Gibbons were sent up first. Danse led in a crouch, wary of hostiles. He turned the corner and was nearly riddled with bullets because of another turret. It was easily dispatched but drew the raiders attention.

“What the fuck was that!?” Danse held up a fist and the rest of his Squad stopped moving, waiting for the raiders to calm down for a moment. “Must be hearing things.” Together they made their way down the broken floor. Danse tightened his jaw at the room full of baby cribs and said nothing but recoiled at the body hanging from the ceiling with the head detached and hanging from the neck on a chain, dripping blood.  

“Fucking disgusting.” Gibbons remarked and Danse tried, really tried, not to roll his eyes at the Knights comments. The room led to the den of raiders, a hobbled hive of depravity. The floor had long since caved in and in the space they’d ran wood bridges through to connect the rooms. Danse cursed under his breath at seeing the thin pathway they’d have to take to advance. They’d be sitting ducks. It was almost guaranteed that injuries would happen at best and he refused to lose more men.

“I will go in first and draw their attention, Knight Gibbons will follow me after the firefight begins and Knight Byron and Scribe Everett will stay here until I give the command to follow. Is that understood?” Danse turned to face the three of them with authority. Byron and Everett nodded but Gibbons was silent even after Danse fixed him with a glower.

“Ad Victoriam!” The battlecry succeeding in capturing the raiders attention as he ran down the incline and laid fire, the red of his laser rifle hitting his targets but largely missing.

“Man, you picked the wrong fight!” The raider blocking his path roared, coming at him with little more than a combat knife and likely hopped up on Psycho to have the audacity to do so. He merely had to shove her off the ledge and to her death as he continued onward. The ground threatened to give. His suit pinged with every bullet that hit him and was going to warn him of integrity failures. Danse didn’t have time to debate whether the rope bridge could support his weight and crossed it, hoping it wouldn’t collapse. His heavy stomps threatened to betray him and covered up the deeper rumbling from below.

“First mistake. Last mistake.” A raider growled from inside the shack, struggling to properly aim the missile launcher he was holding.

Danse charged at him but was too late to stop the blast. The explosion threw him and he flew off the ledge. The impact of falling a good four stories left him reeling. He collided, metal to metal. He’d landed on a broken metal cage. On his back and disoriented was the worst thing to be and with the ringing in his ears so loud he was lucky to have survived. Shaking his head and getting up on dizzy legs, he looked around him. He could hear Gibbons fighting above him and was furious with himself for his foolishness. It was a rookie mistake to be taken off guard by a raider who couldn’t even properly handle a missile launcher. Most likely the raider had died in the explosion and he easily could have as well. There were no raiders on his level aside from the one he tossed, which was weird. He fell from atop the cage with a resounding thump and another rumbling accompanied it. It didn’t take him long to find the reason. He’d only just gotten to his feet when he was flung to the side like a ragdoll, his plating on his arm falling off from the impact and his arm snapping with a sickening crack. He howled at the pain, feeling the bone grate against his muscles and in danger of breaking skin. It was then that the source of the rumbling became clear. An alpha deathclaw was roaring at him in the basement of the hospital. It appeared to already be wounded, potentially by the raiders above, but it was still extremely deadly. Danse scrambled to his feet and fought the limp that had entered his gait as he rounded the cage to put it between the two of them. A warmth trickled into his eye that he knew was blood and his vision swam, but if he didn’t keep alert he was certainly dead. The beast roared and made its way toward him, also limping but still extremely fast. Danse shot at it through the gaps of the cage, the lasers only cauterizing the Deathclaws bleeding wounds and infuriating it further.

Danse wished he could be sure of the safety of his team. The sounds of battle above him were the only reason he knew they were still alive. He rounded the cage again and had to pause to hold onto the bars to steady himself and keep from throwing up from the overwhelming nausea. His breath caught in his throat as he was thrown into the wall again, this time straight on. His Armor yelled at him about the damages he was sustaining, but he could barely hear it above the discomfort he was feeling in his chest he could tell were broken ribs from experience. His chest plate was barely holding on when a Power Armored figure dropped down from above and stunned the creature before laying heavy fire with automatic guns akimbo. In the back of his mind he knew it was Knight Gibbons, but couldn’t be sure of anything through the fog in his mind and the mind numbing pain of simply breathing. The death rattle of the humongous beast was the last thing he heard before losing consciousness.

When he roused, the first thing he felt was stabbing pain upon opening his eyes and his breath faltering. Murmured voices at his side hissed and the blinding light was turned off, though his head still pounded. He could tell he was laying on something not quite the ground but close to it and that he was out of his Power Armor. When his vision stopped spinning he tried to sit up but the memory of the bad break in his arm made him groan. He settled for focusing his gaze on the people around him. Knight Gibbons and Byron were not far and Scribe Everett hovered above him. Danse went weak from relief.

“Do remember where you were before you lost consciousness?” He didn’t understand why she was asking her question at first.

“Gibbons? The deathclaw?” He was more concerned whether or not anyone else was injured. Everett sighed at his answer.

“He’s fine. It’s dead, but do you remember where you were?” He wondered about it for a moment and the pain in his head got a wee bit worse.

“Can-- Kendall Hospital.” He furrowed his brow in irritation that his mouth wasn’t working the way it should.

"Okay, Paladin, you’ve been heavily injured, you seem to have a severe concussion but I’ve given you a stimpack to lessen the damage. You probably only have a minor one now if it did the job. You have a compound fracture in your right forearm as well as several broken ribs. We’ve set off a vertibird signal grenade and are waiting for pick up. You’re going to be sent aboard the Prydwen to be seen by Knight-Captain Cade.” He tried to nodded but it aggravated his headache.

“Affirm’ve.”

Scribe Everett had continued to badger him with questions even after the vertibird came. Knight Gibbons had snickered at his slurred speech, earning him equally slurred expletives. Upon approach to the Prydwen her unrelenting questions finally stopped. His head had cleared up a bit more than when he’d woken up.

“Where’s my Power Armor?” He asked Cade after being shuffled onto a gurney. Cade sighed.

“You come back to the Prydwen in the dead of night a right mess and you’re worrying about your Armor?” Danse scowled. “Relax, Paladin, undue stress can worsen your condition. I’ve got to set your bone still and, well, at least now you’ll have no choice but to sit tight for a while.”

The pain of having a bone pushed back through his skin was enough to send him into shock and Cade had his hands full getting him back down. If he hadn’t had a concussion Cade’d given him some Med-x, but because he did he had to suffer through it. Cade told him that the stimpacks he’d administered could only do so much and that it could take a few weeks to get back all his faculties. Weeks of bed rest was just what he needed, except that he didn’t want them. He’d been beyond relieved that none of his team had perished but now that he realized what he’d have to withstand he was bitter that he’d had to be injured so badly.

Cade left him to rest, but Danse stewed in dissatisfaction with his situation. He should have recognized the rumbling for what it was. The scenario of a deathclaw in the basement of a hospital had never crossed his mind, however, and that made him blame himself more. He tired himself out before long and the lure of sleep dragged him into a dreamless sleep.

When he awoke, he’d expected for it to be Cade at his bedside. Instead it was the woman he was steadfastly avoiding. Her face was turned away and she seemed to be in a muted argument with... Elder Maxson? Danse laid in the cot and silently watched their interaction.

“You’ve seen that he’s fine, now can we go?” Maxson murmured, bordering on unhappy.

“How can you be so callous, Maxson.” She scolded and Maxson stiffened and crossed his arms from where he was leaning against Cade’s counter. Paladin Danse had half the thought that what she’d said had hurt him. “You and I both know he could have died.” Maxson had nothing to say at that and glanced from her to him and stood straight upon realizing his consciousness. Maxson cleared his throat.

“And yet he is alive. Isn’t that right, Paladin?” The Elder fixed him with a look he wasn’t sure was about but frowned knowing it had to do with Knight Harding. She’d whipped to face him, brows drawn and eyes searching. He held his breath at the sight when she took his hand in hers. It’d been a while since he’d seen her and instinctively squeezed her hand.

“I’ll make it, Elder.” He assured, but in the time he’d taken to look at Juliana the Elders expression had soured.

“So I see. We should get going, _Knight_. The Paladin needs his rest.” Danse could tell she was reluctant to leave his side and it did things to him he wished it didn't. He wished he didn’t see the Elder’s hand resting on her lower back when they left and wished he’d missed the possessive glare Maxson gave him.

**Juliana**

The walk to the status update meeting was tense and heavy with unspoken words. She was incessed that Maxson had been so unfeeling and cold. Danse had been her sponsor, of course she’d go see him if he was injured. But no, Maxson wanted to be indignant and go so far as to supervise her visit like she couldn’t be trusted. She’d wanted to smack him across the face in her fury. Maxson entered the Command Deck and addressed the Scribe that had been waiting for them as she sat on one of the couches, pen and paper in hand to record notes of the meeting for further reference.

“The mission to clear Kendall Hospital of raiders was successful, Elder.” A pretty Scribe opened the meeting. “Despite setbacks.” Juliana looked to Maxson to gauge his reaction, it was scalding in its severity. His fists were hidden beneath his crossed arms, but she could see that they were clenched.

“I expect an explanation, Scribe Everett.” The Scribe gulped and shifted on her feet.

“As you wish, Elder. We arrived at Kendall Hospital at approximately 2200 hours. The entrance was unguarded but we ran into Bloodwings. We resorted to Guerilla tactics due to close quarter combatants. I sustained a shot to my calf that Paladin Danse dressed early on in our mission. The raiders had set a bonfire on the first floor and had put the beheaded bodies of settlers, traders, and even a Gunner into the flames. There were two turrets in the vicinity that we took out without issue. We arrived at the hive of the raider activity and found that the floors had collapsed and that they had built quasi-shacks along the rims of the fallen floors, linked together my wooden bridges.

"It was then that we split up per Paladin Danse’s orders. Paladin Danse had ordered Knight Byron and myself to remain behind while he set out to gather the aggression with Knight Gibbons providing support. The next heavy injury was that of Paladin Danse, I assume he was taken by surprise by the raiders having missile launchers because after one was launched he was blown off of the floor he was on and fell to the bottom. We measured it to be around four stories he fell.

“With Paladin Danse out of the picture Knight Byron took the opportunity to provide covering fire for Knight Gibbons as they finished off the last of the raiders. We had no idea what the Paladin was dealing with at the bottom of the hole, but after the raiders were dead we realized it was an alpha deathclaw. It appeared to be injured, though we are unsure if it was the Paladin who had done the damage. The deathclaw had flung the Paladin into a concrete wall when Knight Gibbons had jumped to defend the Paladin from certain death. We then took the liberty of carrying the Paladin out of the building onto the parking garage roof and then out of his suit. After administering stimpacks due to a potential severe concussion on the Paladin’s part, we hailed for a vertibird, sir. I managed to collect a few technical documents as well as medical supplies.” Scribe Everett finished. Juliana’s chest was tight and her throat burned at the information. She’d only known he’d gone up against a deathclaw. Maxson was silent for a moment before speaking in a deceptively even tone that she knew was hiding his true feelings on the matter.

“To go against a deathclaw and win is no laughing matter. While I am glad to hear there were no casualties, it is highly unfortunate that Paladin Danse is out of commission for the time being. Thank you, Scribe Everett. Tell your team that you have a week of rest before your next mission. Take the time to reflect on Paladin Danse’s injuries. Dismissed.” She didn’t take her eyes off of him as the Scribe left the area. Once they were alone she confronted him, but he refused to look at her.

“I know you have more to say than what you told the Scribe.” She said as he gripped the railing and they both looked out on the Commonwealth. “So what is it?” He ground his jaw and shifted on his feet.

“You won’t like what I have to say.” She frowned.

“I’d rather hear what you really think rather than any lies you tell people.” He looked at her as if to consider it before going to take a shot from one of the many bottles of alcohol.

“Not now.” He offered with a small shake of his head before heading out to see Lancer-Captain Kells. She jogged to catch up with him and caught him by the shoulder before he could get very far but he only stared resolutely ahead. Upon their approach the Lancer-Captain pursed his lips and turned it into a tight lipped smile. “Kells.” The man saluted.

“Elder Maxson, for what do I owe the pleasure, sir?” He intoned, Juliana had to turn her face because she couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes.

“I’m here to check the readiness of our Lancers to retake Fort Strong, Captain.” Kells blinked and Juliana fixed him with a bewildered stare.

“We are ready to go whenever you give the say so, Elder.” Juliana narrowed her eyes at Maxson, knowing he was up to something. It wasn’t coincidental that he’d brought up the mission, surprising Kells with a visit, just after Danse had returned to the Prydwen.

“Glad to hear. We’ll be enacting operation: Castelli Fortis in T-minus 60. I’m sure you’ll have no problem delegating the Lancers, Captain.” The Elder shocked the both of them at his sudden revelation. “This will be Knight Harding’s first official mission, as well as her punishment for misplacing the report regarding it. It’s my expressed wish that she get a chance to utilize a minigun aboard a vertibird and that she secure the mini-nukes with a hand selected group of my choosing. I’m sure that there will be no problem to rectify that. Now if you will excuse me, Ad Victoriam, Captain.” Juliana wanted to scream at him, but he took her casually by the elbow and steered her out of the room and to his quarters as if to contain her impending outburst. He released her only after they’d crossed the threshold.

“What are you thinking?” She spat as he paced his room, small as it was. Maxson rubbed the back of his neck with a hand propped on his hip as he did.

“I’m thinking that it’s about time I let you partake in a mission. You yourself have expressed wishes to do so.” He stated matter of factually and faced her as if it wasn’t obvious a ploy.

“Oh, bullshit, Arthur.” He stiffened yet his eyes softened. “What are you up to? Why now?” He tongued his cheek and stood at attention, looking over her head instead of at her.

“Well if you insist on knowing, with Danse out of the picture I need someone else to take his place.” She advanced on him and dared him to back down, nearly chest to chest. He narrowed his eyes but refused to meet her gaze.

“You could have had him complete the mission at any time. You could have sent me to complete the mission ages ago. _Why now?_ ” She pouted, knowing it was probably for some childish reason related to her insistence to visit Danse. His conviction seemed to waver under her scrutiny, or perhaps her displeasure with him. He slowly took a seat, his eyes darting to random things around the room and bit his lip.

“Paladin Danse.” He sighed. “He... distracts you.” He offered as an excuse when she wiped her hand down her face. “You can’t deny it, Juliana.” He stared straight into her eyes and knew she couldn’t. She flinched at the use of her name and ignored the stirring in her stomach at the sound of it on his lips for the first time. Guilt stabbed at her. How could she be feeling something for Maxson while defending her attraction to Danse? She choked on the tightness in her throat. Her breath turned ragged as her anger at herself turned to self-righteous rage.

“How dare you.” Her lip quivered and her voice threatened to break. He didn’t speak, but he clenched his fists on the table and watched her. She took a breath to collect herself, adopting vexation instead. “And what is it that he distracts me from?” She asked, crossing her arms and looking down at him from her standing position. “‘He distracts me.’” She repeated in an attempt to make heads or tails of it. “You know what, you’re right.” At that he looked at her again with a guarded, discouraged expression. “He _does_ distract me. He distracts me from the fact my husband is fucking dead, Arthur. I’m sorry if that offends your sensibilities.” She scowled and paced as she spoke, stopping every so often to emphasize her point. “Danse is a wonderful man and it would be weirder if I wasn’t enraptured by him.” She paused. “He’s lying there in the goddamn infirmary and you’re telling me he is a distraction?” She scoffed petulantly. “Even if he isn't Nate, I’m not sorry that I still want him!” Arthur was nearly huffing in his silent stupor, taking everything he had to stop himself from losing it at her. His eyes were out of focus in his strain.

“Why him? He doesn’t want you.” He growled evenly, hoping it hurt her as much as hearing her prattle on about how great of a guy Danse was. She blanched and he felt high at the sick satisfaction of shutting her up. He rose from his seat and watched as she struggled not to tremble in her indignancy as he approached her. “He doesn’t want you. He’s rejected you before. What makes you think your persistence will pay off, Juliana?” Her eyes flashed and her upper lip twitched as she held back a snarl. She was animalistic in her desperation to protect her fantasy. He gave her some space and returned to his seat. “He doesn’t want you, it’s time you move on.” He studied his hands, not wanting to her face.

“Move on? To who? You? So you’re fucking jealous, is that it?” She fired back at his confession. He grimaced and ground his jaw, not knowing why he expected any different from her. It was why he was drawn to her in the first place, her rebellion and spitfire. “You’re fucking _jealous_ , you son of a _\--_ ”

“Maybe I am!” He hollered, rising to stand once more, unable to contain himself at her taunting. She found herself faltering, having forgotten for a moment his status and title. A vein pulsed in his forehead and his face was red as he glared at her, wanting perversely to claim her lips then and there. “Maybe I am... _jealous_. I am human, Juliana. I am allowed to feel things. I am allowed to experience emotion.” He declared confidently, but deflated afterwards and returned to sitting. “As Elder, I’m just not allowed to show it, so forgive my petty attempts to keep him from you. It’s the best I could have done.” He looked torn to bits, stripped truly bare for the first time. She wanted to scream at him and tell him where to shove it but at the vulnerability she couldn’t find it within herself. He was right. As Elder he needed to give her some sort of punishment for her public mishap at the logistics meeting. Danse was injured and people needed to pick up the load he carried in the meantime. And yes, she had wanted to be boots on the ground and was getting stir crazy. They were at an impasse, neither wanting to make any declarations.

Maybe he was right that she should give up on Danse. She’d missed him while he was gone and worried about him all the while, but what use was that if it would forever be unrequited in the end. In the world she’d found herself in, there was no time to waste on a failing venture. Her heart ached at the prospect and she swallowed the thought as she recalled what she’d said in her aggravation. She bit her cheek hard enough to bleed. She couldn’t believe she’d told Maxson that she was using Danse as a replacement for Nate and she felt sick. Where had that come from? She could admit the men had similarities, but the similarities ended at the soldier-boy in them. It was a sobering thought and had her disgusted with herself.

“I’m sorry.” She froze at the sound of his voice before glancing at him. He’d buried his face in his hands, leaning forward on the table as though the weight from his coat was too much for him to carry. The words caught in her throat and she found she couldn’t voice them, so she walked over and laid a hand on his shoulder. At the feeling, he turned his face to study her, lips parted slightly and blue eyes looking painfully young as he looked up at her. She gave his shoulder a pat and cleared her throat. She had to look away from him or else she’d run her fingers through his hair.

“I should get ready for the mission...” She regretted how stilted she sounded and how pained he looked when she stole a glance back at him. He remained silent and returned his head to his hands as she made for the door. Juliana hesitated opening it and ground her jaw as her thumb ran across the handle as she held it.

“Arthur.” She blurted, bolstering her courage and chancing a glance at him. “Give me-- I just need some time.” She fled upon seeing the intensity of the hope in his countenance. It was blinding and made her doubt her ability to move on again. She just couldn’t handle it after the topic nature of their argument and shut the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are extra kudos


	8. Life Could Be A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life Could Be A Dream- The Chords
> 
> Happy 21st birthday to me and happy holidays.

**Juliana**

The walk to the status update meeting was tense and heavy with unspoken words. She was incessed that Maxson had been so unfeeling and cold. Danse had been her sponsor, of course she’d go see him if he was injured. But no, Maxson wanted to be indignant and go so far as to supervise her visit like she couldn’t be trusted. She’d wanted to smack him across the face in her fury. Maxson entered the Command Deck and addressed the Scribe that had been waiting for them as she sat on one of the couches, pen and paper in hand to record notes of the meeting for further reference. 

“The mission to clear Kendall Hospital of raiders was successful, Elder.” A pretty Scribe opened the meeting. “Despite setbacks.” Juliana looked to Maxson to gauge his reaction, it was scalding in its severity. His fists were hidden been his crossed arms, but she could see that they were clenched. 

“I expect an explanation, Scribe Everett.” The Scribe gulped and shifted on her feet.

“As you wish, Elder. We arrived at Kendall Hospital at approximately 2200 hours. The entrance was unguarded but we ran into Bloodwings. We resorted to Guerilla tactics due to close quarter combatants. I sustained a shot to my calf that Paladin Danse dressed early on in our mission. The raiders had set a bonfire on the first floor and had put the beheaded bodies of settlers, traders, and even a Gunner into the flames. There were two turrets in the vicinity that we took out without issue. We arrived at the hive of the raider activity and found that the floors had collapsed and that they had built quasi-shacks along the rims of the fallen floors, linked together my wooden bridges. It was then that we split up per Paladin Danse’s orders. Paladin Danse had ordered Knight Byron and myself to remain behind while he set out to gather the aggression with Knight Gibbons providing support. The next heavy injury was that of Paladin Danse, I assume he was taken by surprise by the raiders having missile launchers because after one was launched he was blown off of the floor he was on and fell to the bottom. We measured it to be around four stories he fell. 

“With Paladin Danse out of the picture Knight Byron took the opportunity to provide covering fire for Knight Gibbons as they finished off the last of the raiders. We had no idea what the Paladin was dealing with at the bottom of the hole, but after the raiders were dead we realized it was an alpha deathclaw. It appeared to be injured, though we are unsure if it was the Paladin who had done the damage. The deathclaw had flung the Paladin into a concrete wall when Knight Gibbons had jumped to defend the Paladin from certain death. We then took the liberty of carrying the Paladin out of the building and then out of his suit. After administering stimpacks due to a potential severe concussion on the Paladin’s part, we hailed for a vertibird, sir.” Scribe Everett finished. Juliana’s chest was tight and her throat burned at the information. She’d only known he’d gone up against a deathclaw. Maxson was silent for a moment before speaking in a deceptively even tone that she knew was hiding his true feelings on the matter.

“To go against a deathclaw and win is no laughing matter. While I am glad to hear there were no casualties, it is highly unfortunate that Paladin Danse is out of commission for the time being. Thank you, Scribe Everett. Tell your team that you have a week of rest before your next mission. Take the time to reflect on Paladin Danse’s injuries. Dismissed.” She didn’t take her eyes off of him as the Scribe left the area. Once they were alone she confronted him, but he refused to look at her.

“I know you have more to say than what you told the Scribe.” She said as he gripped the railing and they both looked out on the Commonwealth. “So what is it?” He ground his jaw and shifted on his feet.

“You won’t like what I have to say.” She frowned.

“I’d rather hear what you really think rather than any lies you tell people.” He looked at her as if to consider it before going to take a shot from one of the many bottles of alcohol. 

“Not now.” He offered with a small shake of his head before heading out to see Lancer-Captain Kells. She jogged to catch up with him and caught him by the shoulder before he could get very far but he only starred resolutely ahead. Upon their approach the Lancer-Captain pursed his lips and turned it into a tight lipped smile. “Kells.” The man saluted.

“Elder Maxson, for what do I owe the pleasure, sir?” He intoned, Juliana had to turn her face because she couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. 

“I’m here to check the readiness of our Lancers to retake Fort Strong, Captain.” Kells blinked and Juliana fixed him with a bewildered stare.

“We are ready to go whenever you give the say so, Elder.” Juliana narrowed her eyes at Maxson, knowing he was up to something. It wasn’t coincidental that he’d brought up the mission, surprising Kells with a visit, just after Danse had returned to the Prydwen. 

“Glad to hear. We’ll be enacting operation: Castelli Fortis in T-minus 60. I’m sure you’ll have no problem delegating the Lancers, Captain.” The Elder shocked the both of them at his sudden revelation. “This will be Knight Harding’s first official mission, as well as her punishment for misplacing the report regarding it. It’s my expressed wish that she get a chance to utilize a minigun aboard a vertibird and that she secure the mini-nukes with a hand selected group of my choosing. I’m sure that there will be no problem to rectify. Now if you will excuse me, Ad Victoriam, Captain.” Juliana wanted to scream at him, but he took her by the elbow and ushered her out of the room and to his quarters as if to contain her impending outburst. He released her only after they’d crossed the threshold. 

“What are you thinking?” She spat as he paced his room, small as it was. Maxson rubbed the back of his neck with a hand propped on his hip as he did.

“I’m thinking that it’s about time I let you partake in a mission. You yourself have expressed wishes to do so.” He stated matter of factly and faced her as if it wasn’t obvious a ploy.

“Oh, bullshit, Arthur.” He stiffened yet his eyes softened. “What are you up to? Why now?” He tongued his cheek and stood at attention, looking over her head instead of at her. 

“Well if you insist on knowing, with Danse out of the picture I need someone else to take his place.” She advanced on him and dared him to back down, nearly chest to chest. He narrowed his eyes but refused to meet her gaze. 

“You could have had him complete the mission at any time. You could have sent me to complete the mission ages ago.  _ Why now? _ ” She pouted, knowing it was probably for some childish reason related to her insistence to visit Danse. His resolution seemed to waver under her scrutiny, or perhaps her displeasure with him. He slowly took a seat, his eyes darting to random things around the room and bit his lip. 

“Paladin Danse.” He sighed. “He... distracts you.” He offered as an excuse when she wiped her hand down her face. “You can’t deny it, Juliana.” He stared straight into her eyes and knew she couldn’t. She flinched at the use of her name and ignored the stirring in her stomach at the sound of it on his lips for the first time. Guilt stabbed at her. How could she be feeling something for Maxson while defending her attraction to Danse? She choked on the tightness in her throat. Her breath turned ragged as her anger at herself turned to self-righteous rage. 

“How dare you.” Her lip quivered and her voice threatened to break. He didn’t speak, but he clenched his fists on the table and watched her. She took a breath to collect herself, adopting vexation instead. “And what is it that he distracts me from?” She asked, crossing her arms and looking down at him from her standing position. “‘He distracts me.’” She repeated in an attempt to make heads or tails of it. “You know what, you’re right.” At that he looked at her again with a guarded, discouraged expression. “He  _ does _ distract me. He distracts me from the fact my husband is fucking dead, Arthur. I’m sorry if that offends your sensibilities.” She scowled and paced as she spoke, stopping every so often to emphasize her point. “Danse is a wonderful man and it would be weirder if I wasn’t enraptured by him.” She paused. “He’s lying there in the goddamn infirmary and you’re telling me he is a distraction?” She scoffed petulantly. “I’m not sorry that I still want him!” Arthur was nearly huffing in his silent stupor, taking everything he had to stop himself from losing it at her his eyes were out of focus in his strain.

“Why him? He doesn’t want you.” He growled evenly, hoping it hurt her as much as hearing her prattle on about how great of a guy Danse was. She blanched and he felt high at the sick satisfaction of shutting her up. He rose from his seat and watched as she struggled not to tremble in her indignancy as he approached her. “He doesn’t want you. He’s rejected you before. What makes you think your persistence will pay off, Juliana?” Her eyes flashed and her upper lip twitched as she held back a snarl. She was animalistic in her desperation to protect her fantasy. He gave her some space and returned to his seat. “He doesn’t want you, it’s time you move on.” He studied his hands, not wanting to her face. 

“Move on? To who? You? So you’re fucking jealous, is that it?” She fired back at his confession. He grimaced and ground his jaw, not knowing why he expected any different from her. It was why he was drawn to her in the first place, her rebellion and spitfire. “You’re fucking  _ jealous _ , you son of a _ \-- _ ” 

“Maybe I am!” He hollered, rising to stand once more, unable to contain himself at her taunting. She found herself faltering, having forgotten for a moment his status and title. A vein pulsed in his forehead and his face was red as he glared at her, wanting perversely to claim her lips then and there. “Maybe I am...  _ jealous _ . I am human, Juliana. I am allowed to feel things. I am allowed to experience emotion.” He declared confidently, but deflated afterwards and returned to sitting. “As Elder, I’m just not allowed to show it, so forgive my petty attempts to keep him from you. It’s the best I could have done.” He looked torn to bits, stripped truly bare for the first time. She wanted to scream at him and tell him where to shove it but at the vulnerability she couldn’t find it within herself. He was right. As Elder he needed to give her some sort of punishment for her public mishap at the logistics meeting. Danse was injured and people needed to pick up the load he carried in the meantime. And yes, she had wanted to be boots on the ground and was getting stir crazy. They were at an impasse, neither wanting to make any declarations. 

Maybe he was right that she should give up on Danse. She’d missed him while he was gone and worried about him all the while, but what use was that if it would forever be unrequited in the end. In the world she’d found herself in, there was no time to waste on a failing venture. Her heart ached at the prospect and she swallowed the thought as she recalled what she’d said in her aggravation. She bit her cheek hard enough to bleed. She couldn’t believe she’d told Maxson that she was using Danse as a replacement for Nate and she felt sick. Where had that come from? She could admit the men had similarities, but the similarities ended at the soldierboy in them. It was a sobering thought and had her disgusted with herself. 

“I’m sorry.” She froze at the sound of his voice before glancing at him. He’d buried his face in his hands, leaning forward on the table as though the weight from his coat was too much for him to carry. The worse caught in her throat and she found she couldn’t voice them, so she walked over and laid a hand on his shoulder. At the feeling, he turned his face to study her, lips parted slightly and blue eyes looking painfully young as he looked up at her. She gave his shoulder a pat and cleared her throat. She had to look away from him or else she’d run her fingers through his hair.

“I should get ready for the mission...” She regretted how stilted she sounded and how pained he looked when she stole a glance back at him. He remained silent and returned his head to his hands as she made for the door. Juliana hesitated opening it and ground her jaw as her thumb ran across the handle as she held it. 

“Arthur.” She blurted, bolstering her courage and chancing a glance at him. “Give me-- I just need some time.” She fled upon seeing the intensity of the hope in his countenance. It was blinding and made her doubt her ability to move on. She just couldn’t handle it after the topic nature of their argument and shut the door behind her. 


	9. Right Back Where We Started From

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right Back Where We Started From- Maxine Nightingale

**Danse**

Danse had gotten word about the mission to Fort Strong going into effect and thought nothing of it. His day consisted of lying in bed and resting listlessly as the daily doses of stimpacks did their job mending his broken bones. Cade had given him a lecture when he’d tried to persuade the Good Doctor that he could work on his Power Armor with his good hand. No one visited him for any other reason than to wish him well. He’d yet to see Juliana again, but guessed that she was busy running errands for Elder Maxson. He frowned. The mere thought of the man bringing it to his face. His hand attempted to wipe it off, Maxson was his Elder after all, but still it lingered and so he sighed in resignation. His mind still couldn’t commiserate his change of opinion on the Elder working with Harding. The pinched look he’d left him with had him disconcerted. Had more changed in the time he’d been away than he’d thought? His lips tightened into a taught and deeper frown. The hum of the Prydwen only served to torment him in his isolation; Cade had stepped out for a meeting with the Elder. Maxson; the man he respects but now has adverse feelings towards. Danse sat up, though his ribs protested and headed to the mess. The only place he’d been cleared to go by the Knight-Captain. 

“It’s great to see you on the mend, Paladin. You’ll be back at it in no time.” A Knight-Sergeant, Knight-Sergeant Susser said upon recognizing the Paladin. Danse nodded perfunctory, looking down to hide his jaded eyes, and walked toward the food. The Knight-Sergeant hadn’t taken the hint and followed him. “Let me get that for you.” He helped himself to setting Danse’s meal up, much to the Paladin’s frustrations. He was injured, not an invalid. 

“I appreciate the gesture, Knight-Sergeant, but I’m sure I can manage.” He ground out in his most professional tone. Susser didn’t seem to care and continued.

“I’m sure you can, but you should accept the kindness afforded to you sometimes. We are your brothers and sisters, Paladin. And I take care of my own, ‘s what my ma taught me.” Susser drawled, ducking his head meekly before raising his head in pride. Danse had no arguments after that and even allowed the man to share a meal with him, though he offered little to the conversation for the most part. 

“I’m to wait ‘til my Squad returns from Fort Strong. Two or three of us were told to stay behind and a few others from other Squads were assigned the mission with what is rumored to be an agenda.” Danse was listening and humming in mild acknowledgement that the man was speaking. “People are sayin’ his protégée, Knight Harvey or whatever, is there.” Danse paused midchew and let the words sink in. Yes, they might just be baseless rumors, but considering the look Maxson had given him he wasn’t so sure they were without a truthful foundation. He swallowed and cleared his throat.

“It’s not Knight Harvey, it’s Knight Harding, Susser.” He corrected before taking another bite, his fork stabbing aggressively into his mirelurk steak. 

“Oh, well, Knight Harding, then. Anyway, people are saying it’s because she’s incompetent and that he doesn’t trust her abilities in battle. Supposedly she’s a vault dweller so it ain’t so farfetched.” Danse bit his tongue and made to finish his meal in record time. “You don’t think he has other motives for appointing her as his protégée, do you?” The man leaned conspiratorially forward over the table just as Danse rose and carried his setting over to the receptacle. “Paladin?” Danse ignored him and his questioning stare, trudging instead back to Cade’s. 

He didn’t notice the Elder until he was crossing the threshold. His presence was a surprise and Danse wasn’t sure it it was a good one. The man covertly fidgeted with the edge of his coat and followed Danse’s movements with a watchful eye. 

“Elder.” He saluted. The younger man mirrored him. “I wasn’t expecting you to visit twice in one day.” Arthur glanced to the side.

“Neither was I, but I decided I would like to speak with you, Paladin.” Danse tensed but took a seat on his cot and gestured for the Elder to occupy the chair beside it. Arthur cleared his throat before speaking. “It’s come to my attention that Knight Harding holds romantic feelings towards you and that you have spurned her advances because of your dedication to the Brotherhood. I commend you for your decision and I’ve come to ask you to continue putting some distance between the two of you, for her sake. Your mere... proximity distracts her from her duties a great deal.” Arthur searched his face for any weaknesses and took note of Danse’s defensively neutral expression. “I ask you not as your Elder, but as a friend, Danse. I’d like for her to be able to turn to me after her feelings for you fade.” Danse blanched at the blasphemous declaration. 

“Elder, is it not against regulations to pursue--” Arthur held up a hand to cut him off.

“It is but it happens nonetheless.” Danse narrowed his eyes in incredulity and indignancy. The man had the gall to come and tell him to keep away from Harding. Danse was embarrassed that the Elder had known about the goings on between Harding and himself. Despite the fact that he’d distanced himself from her of his own volition, he found himself wanting to do just the opposite after the Elder’s revelation. In some sort of outlandish act of territoriality, he bristled. 

“It can’t be that you’ve forgotten that I had been her sponsor. That can’t be brushed under the rug and forgotten, Arthur. I take it you hadn’t wanted her to visit me this morning because of your machinations, isn't that right?” Danse spoke evenly and without intonation but sat up straighter. Arthur’s brows knit and his eyes darkened. 

“Be that as it may, at this point in time, Juliana herself has declared to hold no such ties to you any longer.” Arthur retorted. Danse’s gaze hardened at the sound of her name coming from the Elder, hating how it sounded and hated the urge to punch the man that rose within him. His fists clenched at his sides, but he would never assault the Elder. He hadn’t fallen that far in his love for her. 

“Since you want to speak as friends, let me tell you that I hadn’t denied her because I didn’t feel the same attraction towards her. If it weren’t prohibited for a Commanding Officer and subordinate to be together without consent being put into question, I would have returned her feelings. And now that I am no longer her CO, or even her sponsor, I have nothing holding me back if you say ‘it happens.’” Something like fear crept into the Elder’s gaze before being carefully masked by a diplomatic grin. 

“Then I need only station you elsewhere,  _ Paladin. _ ” The Elder stood and collected himself. “It was a pleasure speaking with you, I’ve learned a lot. Ad Victoriam.” He left Danse to sit, dread building within him. He found his head in his hands and ground his palms into his eyes. He’d fucked up and in his ineloquence, shot himself in the foot. He had told her to watch what she said to Maxson and here he was going against his own advice. Danse looked up at the sound of footsteps approaching and a part of him hoped it was Knight Harding. But of course nothing ever worked out for him, it was Cade. 

 

**Juliana**

The group that had been assigned to her by Maxson was composed of members of several teams. Which was odd, because she could have just joined a single unit instead of breaking up several. Their teamwork and fluidity would be hindered by being unaccustomed to one another. She sighed as she looked at them. Knight-Sergeant Gonzalez, a handsome tan man with graying hair in a suit Power Armor to her right; Knight-Aspirant Forsyth, a young woman with a blonde ponytail who looked closer to a Squire than a soldier stood in front of Gonzalez; Senior-Scribe Buratta was hunkered down beside her, a man who looked better suited to being a Knight than a Scribe due to his hulking size; Knight Ulrich was the only one who was in the same rank as her though the woman was the stark opposite of her, she was all muscle and hard lines forged from a lifetime of hardship that overshadowed Juliana’s own lithe build. She’d tried to be friendly and received stern stares. She didn’t know what she expected from people appointed by Maxson. 

“Knight Harding, it’s time to man the minigun!” Knight-Sergeant Gonzalez yelled over the roar of the vertibird. Juliana gripped the handles of the gun as some of her hair grew loose from her bun and whipped her face. “There’s a Behemoth up ahead, take it down, Knight!” Juliana sucked in a breath when she spotted the hulking mutant. Unlike the other super mutants, it was a lopsided green mess, as if the FEV hadn’t affected the whole body at the same time. She did as she was ordered and unloaded at the monstrosity after the minigun had fired up. It roared in agony as it’s thick skin absorbed the bullets. Chunks of a concrete divider soared in their direction, several hitting the side of the vertibird and jarring the occupants. She was unbothered and continued her assault, aiming for the head and upper chest as the vertibird rounded the area. It swung it’s fire hydrant pole in futility before smacking it into another concrete divider and sending bits of it in every direction. The vertibird was receiving damage to its engines by the rifles of the super mutants on the ground. The Lancers told everyone to bail out to save the vertibird and got to a relatively safe spot and lowered in altitude. Juliana barely caught herself as she impacted with the ground. She’d forgone her Power Armor in order to stay light and quiet, but at the moment it was pointless. The Behemoth made its way over to their location.

“Fall into formation!” Gonzalez ordered. Juliana found herself in the middle of a tight formation. The sight of herself surrounded in a protective circle had her seeing red. If she survived this, she decided to give Maxson what was coming for him. He might fancy her but she wouldn’t pull her punches if he wanted to be an overbearing ass. She could take care of herself, though she wished Danse were there to cover her weak spots. For the moment, she’d follow Maxson’s battle plan, but not before letting loose a plasma grenade to finish the Behemoth off and cement herself as capable amongst the unit assigned to protect her as though she were a weak farmer. It landed just beneath its step before its feet exploded in a gruesome mess that sent it toppling. Its fire hydrant landed loudly not too far away from where they were. A self satisfied smile crossed her face before aiming at the next super mutant to cross her line of fire. “Hot damn, Harding. Good aim!” She was glad to be praised and not berated for acting on her own. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad experience.

 

Her ragtag group of protectors followed her up to the Prydwen to give Maxson a post-op report. Knight-Sergeant Gonzalez frowned at her decision to forgo the meeting and instead choosing to get something to eat. She'd figured that she would have nothing to add to their statements so her presence was unneeded. Due to their thorough work on protecting her shed sustained no injuries, hardly even a scratch. Senior-Scribe Buratta had taken a nasty bite from a mutant hound and that frustrated her more than anything. No one bothered her as she made to eat her meal, though people did watch and whisper. 


	10. You're In My Arms and A Million Miles Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're In My Arms- Anne Shelton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are taking a turn from here because i kinda cornered myself plot wise so I apologize if its not the turn ya'll like

**Danse**

He looked up and saw her pass the infirmary door. He wanted to call out to ask what had her in such a hurry, but she'd continued on her warpath before he could even formulate a thought. What right did he have to call out to her anyway if she'd declared that they weren't tied together. He wanted a drink and knew he had some in his quarters. Cade sat at his terminal typing up a report and a plan formed in Danse's head.

 

“Knight-Captain, I believe I've healed enough to warrant leaving this cot and taking up room for other patients. I will continue to take it easy but I'd like to be able to sleep in the comfort of my own quarters.” He prompted and Cade turned to study him. Danse swallowed and ran his hand through his hair with his good hand.

“I don't see why you can't.” Cade said with a frown, clearly displeased by the notion but unable to argue the Paladin’s point. He sighed. “Fine, you're free to go but if I hear you've been to the Armor Bay you will find yourself right back in that cot. Is that understood?” Danse nodded enthusiastically.

 

His quarters were as he left it, the prospect of a good drink carried him to his stash of alcohol. Bourbon was his vice this time. He got comfortable sitting up in his bed and popped the cap. Hesitation had his hand pausing before the lip of the bottle touched his lips. Perhaps he shouldn't be indulging. The alcohol would thin his blood and probably hinder his recovery, but he was indifferent to the idea. The rich liquid hit his tongue and he christened the evening with several gulps. The liquor warmed him, comforting him like an old friend.

 

He thought of Juliana and Maxson's wishes to woo her and grit his teeth.

Images of the two of them together flashed through his mind and he found he couldn't drown the bourbon fast enough to wash them away. Maxson defiling her lips and tarnishing Danse's image of her with his hands that roamed and groped. His stomach turned at the pleased sounds she would make for Maxson and not for him and he panted at the pain. The glass of the bourbon now empty stood glaringly on his bedside table as he dug around for a few more choice bottles. A golden rum, a water clear vodka, his companions for the evening. He downed the rum in desperation. He didn't want to think of them. He didn't want to think of her. It took a good amount of time for the warmth to spread outward from his stomach to blanket his face in pleasant fogginess.

 

Only after his hands felt disconnected from his head did he slow down his consumption. With his tremulous thoughts quieted he wondered what he was doing. A timid rasping at his door had him bolting upright in woozy attention. He'd almost thought he'd imagined it until it repeated. He held onto the door frame to stabilize himself when he cracked open the door. He knew he would sound tipsy so he didn't speak.

 

“Danse. I heard you got discharged.” Of course it was her, he thought ruefully. She withered at his bothered expression. “I came to see if you wanted to talk.” He was allowing her into his quarters before he could reconcile what he was doing. He shut the door behind them and leaned against it as he watched her maneuver around his space. The soft light of his table lamp cast her in a shadowed silhouette. He crossed his arms and his head thumped into the door as he leaned it back. The sound caught her attention and she fiddled with her Pipboy.

 

“Whaddyou want?” He rasped, a part of himself hating how he sounded. The bigger part of him was growing irate at her presence. Her gaze locked onto the bottles at his bedside and she frowned.

 

“I thought the smell coming from you was because of the antiseptic Cade uses, but you're drunk aren’t you.” His brows knit at the tone she gave him, it sounded disappointed and disapproving.

 

“Yes, no, almost.” She crossed her arms and he left his post at the door to snag a bottle, take another swig, and hold it out to her. A dark part of him wanted her to see him so low and wanted her to blame herself for his mistakes. “Come to yell at me?”

 

“No, but why are you drinking anyway?” He wanted to believe she was concerned. He wanted to lie to her. Danse sat down on his bed with his elbows on his knees.

 

“Elder Maxson--” He began but couldn't for the life of him put the rest of the words together.

 

“That son of a bitch, the fuck did he do?” He turned at the protective sound of her voice and his heart hurt knowing it was his fault for losing her.

 

“Nothing. It's my fault.” She was confused by his remark and took a seat beside him, taking the opportunity to grab his bottle and take a sip. He watched her and took in the details. Her soft lips and her defined cupid's bow and her button nose right above it. Her holotags, he noticed were above her suit sans wedding rings and his throat closed up. They'd been there the last time he'd talked to her and now they were gone. The little voice in his head told him it was because of Maxson and he recoiled inside. “I shouldn't have brought you here.” He blurted without thinking and watched as she flinched and let out a tight breath. He'd hurt her, but it was the truth.

 

“What do you mean?” Juliana fixed him with a scrunched up face, mouth turned deeply down. He stared at her dumbly at the realization that she didn't understand his meaning.

 

“It was a mistake and it ruined everything.” He added as if it elaborated his line of thought, only serving to fuel the fire. She slammed the bottle next to the others and rose. “Where are you--” She dug her fists into her hair and skirted the room like a trapped animal. He relaxed when she didn't immediately go for the door. She was taking such shallow, quick breaths that Danse rose and approached her in an attempt to placate her and prevent her from hyperventilating, but when he got close enough she pushed him away. “Jul--” His breath whooshed out of him at the pain in his mending ribs.

 

“Shut up, you fucking asshole!” He gaped at her and steadied himself by holding onto her elbow with his good arm. She didn't push him away again. “How can you tell me that it was a mistake to bring me into the Brotherhood? I only joined because of you--”

 

“Well I lost you because of it!” He was growing tired of her inability to understand him as well as his inability to explain. She grimaced, her face turned up in confusion and pain.

 

“No, you lost me because _you_ didn't try hard enough--”

 

“And I regret it, I'm sorry.” Danse held her softly at the base of her neck with his good hand and kissed her forehead, his thumb running over her jaw. He could only hope that his feelings would get through to her, that his apology and subtle declaration would soothe her. She gasped and held his wrists in a loosening grip. He repeated his beseeching kiss, emboldened by her lack of rejection. His lips moved from her forehead to her brow and then to her cheek before he paused, leaning his forehead against hers. She felt so little in his hands, her hands on his so small. Her brows were furrowed and her lips parted. He was lost in her and almost missed her words. “What are you doing, Danse?” Her voice was so uncertain and pathetically quiet.

 

“What I should have done.” He nuzzled her hair and whispered in her ear before kissing under her jaw. She sighed and let his wrists go to move her hands to his waist. He stepped into her to feel her against him as he kissed down her neck and held her against him by the base of her back. She whispered his name in a sigh and wrapped her arms around his neck. She sighed again more soberly.

 

“Danse, you're drunk. We can't do this.” He paused his trail of open mouth kisses to squeeze her possessively against him. She moaned at the feel of his hardness.

 

“Why not?” He sounded like a pouty child and laid soft chaste kisses over his pathway. He ran his hand down to her rear and gave it a gentle squeeze and reviled in the way she ground against him.

 

“You're drunk, you're hurt, and I'm due to report to Maxson before he goes searching for me.” He froze before pulling away as if burned. She looked stunned at his sudden absence before laying the backs of her hands against her cheeks to cool them. Danse's fists clenched and his arousal waned. It was always Maxson.

 

“He's planning to station me somewhere far from you. I wouldn't be shocked if it were to the Glowing Sea. He'll probably send me away as soon as I'm healed. If you're worried I'll regret it when I sober up you'd be dead wrong.” Juliana seemed to mull over his words, sense and lust warring. She glanced at the door and then the bed and then to Danse. He was sure he looked a bit debauched.

 

“What's the rush? I just need to check in with him and I'll be back as soon as I can.” She was right, but he didn't want her to leave and he sure as hell didn't want her to show up at Maxson's doorstep looking like a juicy meal. Danse dragged his hands down his face. The thought made his blood boil and lash out.

 

“You show up looking like that and he’ll bend you over the table.” She recoiled. “He’s the Elder and the Elder always gets what he wants.” He grunted as he leaned back against his desk with arms folded.

 

“I’m not-- You know what, this was a mistake. I’m leaving.” She made for the door but he caught her arm. Danse was blindsided by the finesse in which she kicked out his leg and had him on the ground. The door shut behind her before his ass had hit the ground, leaving him jarred and put out.

 

Left alone with his thoughts he recounted what had just transpired. He was doing so well and then had to open his big mouth and fuck it up. Instead of getting up, he resigned himself to becoming one with the floor and laid flat, staring at the ceiling with a groan.

  


**Juliana**

Who did Danse think he was? She wasn’t easy. She huffed as she tried to calm herself before she entered Maxson’s room. A break was needed. Distance was what she needed at the moment. Distance from Danse, from Maxson. Hell, the whole damn Brotherhood. She needed out.

 

“I was about to send someone to search for you.” Maxson huffed at the sound of her entry and giving her a wary glance before returning his attention to his terminal.

 

“I was busy.” At that, he finally turned to locked eyes with her and took in her defensive posture. Instead of saying anything he nodded, as if worried he’d say the wrong thing considering their last encounter. “I’m afraid I have some things I need to see to at my homestead, sir, that require my immediate attention.” The grinding of his teeth was nearly audible as he mulled over her words. “I would like some time to attend to them.”

 

“Knight Harding, I’m sure you’re aware that you are already receiving special treatment. To ask for leave, now, is ridiculous considering Paladin Danse’s injuries. I may be able to allow you time once he is better--”

 

“I believe I said it was an urgent matter, Elder.” It was a battle of wills as the two stared each other down, whoever caved first would be shit out of luck. “I don’t think I’ll be able to perform my best with my mind worrying about my home, Arthur.” She pushed and he fell like a house of cards.

 

“How long do you need?”


	11. In the Still of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Still of the Night- Dion
> 
> I hope I didn't butcher Deeks and Hancock too bad, I love the characters but cant quite get them down pat. Anyway, this chapter marks the beginning of plot, so buckle up. <3

**Juliana**

She sat on a rooftop near Boston Prep and puffed on a cigarette lost in thought. From her spot, the Prydwen didn’t look half as intimidating as she looked up at it just out of range of the airport. The death stares when she left though, she could do without. Clearly, the other Knights and Scribes had the idea she was undeserving of joining the fold. Their scowls and mumbled goodriddances at her departure simply spurned her on and cemented her idea of never returning, seeing as to how they’d run things. Knights, Scribes, Paladins, Elders; all mumbo jumbo poobah. It reminded her of a Frat House and how god awful they were. Add the weird triangle going on between Danse, Maxson, and her and it was a regular college drama. Juliana snorted at the banality of the situation. A pang caught her heart nonetheless. By just leaving the Prydwen she’d gotten to feeling like her old self again. It was as if her intelligence was dropping the longer she stayed, she thought as she popped a pack of gum in her mouth. The cherry of her cigarette was snubbed as she crushed it under her foot. If only she could do the same to her feelings. She’d gone for love like an idiot and look how that turned out. She was too jaded for it, but the hope and guilt that maybe Danse would forgive her desertion stubbornly remained.

 

Brushing the debris from her bottom, she checked her PipBoy. The Old North Church was closest, but after having just left the Brotherhood figured she wouldn’t be taken in without caution. The next nearest overt settlement was Goodneighbor and damn if she wasn’t in need of one and a stiff drink. Sighing, she fixed her bun and checked her gear. There was a nip in the air. At nine at night it was just dark enough to get by by stealth, but she’d have to traverse super mutant infested territory. Without the hulking, clunking mass that was Danse, it was easier to sneak around without trouble.

 

The rusted fire escape groaned under her steps as if holding on by faith alone. She weaved between the decrepit buildings until she reached the East Boston Police Station and crossed the first bridge, hugging the shoreline. The sedated sounds of the water belied the dangers that were. She’d learned the hard way that mirelurks were something to be wary of. The static energy building in the air had her hair frizzing and the metallic scent of it had her scrunching up her face. Before long the telltale green of an impending radstorm took over the night sky as she reached the second bridge. 

 

“Ah, fuck.” Goodneighbor was too far a trip in the face of a Green Monster. With hands on her hips and eyes searching the skyline, Bunker Hill was the safest bet. Though there was little cover and protection from the radiation, hopefully some traders would be in and she could snag some radaway to weather the storm. Kessler gave her the eye as she entered the settlement but ultimately bit her tongue, for the moment. The woman never did get on well with her, but it was understandable. Being the mayor of a trading settlement wasn’t easy when you’re being hounded on all sides; supermutants, raiders, and the Institute alike. 

 

The storm seemed to be only passing by the time Juliana entered the trading hub, bartering a few purified waters for a radaway. A rogue hand rested on her forearm mid-sale. When she turned to look she recognized the sunglasses and schmoozed a mutfruit from Deb as Deacon walked away. She tailed him to the adjacent room that overlooked the wall. 

 

“Well, well, well. You look a little worse for wear.” He drawled, taking a seat. The last time she was here the space was barren, but now there was a table and two seats and food. Getting a better look, she sighed a laugh; two dinner plates, candles, and even a flower vase.  _ How quaint _ . “Brotherhood not feeding my best girl?” 

 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were genuinely concerned.” Juliana joined him, sitting across from him and eyeing the food. The squirrel bits looked particularly delectable and the Dandy Boys made her mouth water. She stared at him long enough for him to get jumpy.

 

“Intrigued by my lovely set up, Charmer? Even got a salt shaker!” He picked it up and shook it. Her silence broke and she let out a laugh. Deacon's face lit up like a kid on Christmas. 

 

“How’d you even get all these? Where’d these chairs come from?” Strangely enough, the sound of distant gunfire didn’t immediately set her on edge. 

 

Deacon hummed and uncrossed and crossed his legs, looking side to side before leaning forward conspiratorially with his eyes peeking over the rim of his duds.  “Well, have I got the story for you. Listen to this. One day, I found myself at the airport shootin’ the breeze as it were. Dez’d kicked me out of HQ per usual. I totally was not doing recon and I wondered how you were doing so, lovable kleptomaniac that I am I just  _ had _ to have me some airport seats to take back home, souvenirs y’know?” 

 

“Deacon...” She sat stunned as she listened to him spin his tale. The call for the Dandy Boys was too much and she popped a few into her mouth. 

 

“Hold on, I’m not done. So I said to myself, ‘this isn’t a one-man job, this is real heist material,’” he crossed his arms to mime contemplation, “I got myself over to Goodneighbor and hired me a fine-lookin' mercenary who just so happened to be in cahoots with your boots.” He wiggled his brows, earning him a snort. “We managed to sneak in and  _ nearly _ take out these two beauts without issue but ‘cause of our beloved loudmouth mercenary and his complaints we caught the attention of a passing patrol. And this is the best part, Charmer, before they shined their flashlights at us I shoved him down on the two-seater we were lugging and in his confusion mounted him like a bucking bronco moaning ‘RJ! Oh God, Rj! You have the best dick in the ‘wealth!’ You should have seen his face. Thank god the backrests blocked the important bits or else we’d be canned, but loe and behold the damn tin cans gave us this seat to get rid of us and the other cause we ‘soiled it.’” He gestured to the one he was sitting on and the two-seater she was. 

 

“Oh, bullshit, Deacon. You gotta lie better than that.” She doubted with narrowed eyes and a grin. He gasped and for all intents and purposes looked rightfully hurt. 

 

“I would never-- okay, maybe I would, but not this time!” He asserted with a finger. 

 

“Deacon! Oh my god, why would you do that to little RJ?” She winced for him, the poor man. Deacon pouted and chewed on his squirrel bits.

 

“Hey, I got the real short stick here. He blacklisted me as a customer even though it’s _ my _ idea that saved us. We didn’t even do the hanky panky for real!” The two finished their meal before speaking again. Deacon broke the ice first. “So where’s your Beloved Paladin?” At his words, her mood soured. Ever intuitive, Deacon nodded his head in silent understanding and reached behind the chair to pull out some bourbon. “Bourbon for your booboo, Jul?” 

 

“I almost stopped by the Old Church but thought against it. Too soon, y’know?” Her voice carried a weathered tiredness as she took the bottle from him. 

 

“Good call. Dez would be on red alert considering you’re fresh from bootcamp.” The spy rested his chin in his hand as he studied her. “Hey, take it easy there, buckaroo.” 

 

Her throat burned as she downed as much as she could before ever the mother hen Deacon confiscated it. He held the bourbon like a baby. A burp escaped her as she savored the burn. 

 

“I was thinking,” she began, staring at the ceiling and shifting her knees side to side, “I’ve got a month before I’m considered a deserter. Do you think that’s enough time to accept that General role Preston was offering and make something of it?” Deacon choked on his swig. 

 

“Wha-- Where did-- Why?” He coughed. 

 

“I kinda fucked up, big time, Deac. You know I went there to chase Danse’s hot ass, but now I got someone chasing my hot ass. Big Brass type. I figured, only way to not be kidnapped in the night or some shit was to build something to rival. Not only that, but it’s a good cause, of course. Always was the humanitarian type.” Juliana picked at her nails, bothered with the constant dirt under them. She wasn’t telling him to get him to dissuade her but to get the railroad as a potential ally. “I saw how the Brotherhood is run, and I fucking hated it. Knights, Paladins, Scribes, the fucking Prydwen, it’s straight out of Camelot type shit. Fuck, even their esteemed Elder is named Arthur. What kind of storybook nonsense is that? No, if I have any say in the matter the Minutemen will not be like that, no superior human race nonsense, no purity nonsense, just good people.” Deacon was quiet for a time to think. She let him. The concept had yet to solidify in her mind until then.

 

“Shit, Charmer, you know I’ll always have your back, but you know the railroad...” He trailed off. 

 

“Synths are humans too, Glory and Nick have taught me that.” Juliana pushed the fallen strands of hair out of her face with a sigh. “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves here, I still have to visit Goodneighbor. It’s been a while since I’ve seen our dashing rogue and I want to keep him apprised of my plans.” She made to stand.

 

“Want me to tag along?” 

 

“Not this time, it’s been a long time since I’ve flown solo. Need time to clear my head.” Giving him a hug, she waved him goodbye. “Next time, for sure. See ya ‘round.” 

 

The road through the main gates was clear. Kessler must have paid off the latest hotshot raider gang. She hung right and passed Cabot house rather than deal with Haymarket Hall and crouched past the Mass Fusion Gunner hive. Nearly at the gate, she was surprised at having not been drawn into a firefight. The Goodneighbor sign was in sight and she let out a breath, rising from her crouch. Her legs ached in protest and she let out a groan as she straightened and stretched. 

 

“Puny human!”  _ Shit.  _ Chastising herself for dropping her guard in downtown Boston, she caught sight of the super mutant and dropped low. She rolled out of the way moments before the super sledge made impact. The debris shot out in all directions from the place she'd just been as she made a break for it. Opening her bag and slinging out a frag grenade she made for cover and laid into the mutant with precision shots from a safe distance. “Agh! My arm!” Her western revolver left it crippled enough to allow the grenade to do maximum damage and giving her enough time to get the hell out of there before more showed up. She made for the door in a dead sprint, slamming it shut behind her only then did she catch her breath. 

 

“Running from something? Welcome home.” A drifter said after taking in her appearance. She huffed in agreement and headed for the statehouse. 

 

“Well look who it is. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” The mayor rasped as she swung open the doors, a smile spreading across his face. He laid comfortably across the couch with one leg dangling over the backrest. Her shoulders drooped as her sails deflated and the adrenaline left her system. 

 

“Hancock, it’s been a while.” She shut the doors behind her and nodded a greeting to Fahrenheit who was cleaning under her nails with a knife.

 

“That it has, but I’m guessing you’re not here for pleasure, sister.” He gestured for her to take a seat as he sat up. “You look like you just had a tumble with a molerat.”

 

“Hmm, a bit of both.” She teased cheekily as she allowed herself to collapse into the cushions. “Funny you should say that. That’s about the only thing I haven’t seen on my return trip.” Sighing at the crusted dirt all over her, she groaned. She’d need to find some abraxo. Hancock paused to look at her before popping a mentats. 

 

“Where’s Paladin Pissant?” She let out a steady breath and shifted her gaze to her nails as she lounged.

 

“Well, y’know...”

 

“Spit it out, you got me on the edge of my seat here.” He said as he leaned his elbows on his knees and pinned her with his stare. 

 

“...didn’t exactly pan out.” Juliana could tell an array of thoughts were shooting through his mind if his frozen expression was any indication. As if to catch himself, he blinked and leaned back.

 

“How you holdin’ up?” He’d asked her but didn’t look her in the eye again yet as he lit a cigarette. She debated getting into her feelings.  _ Maybe later. _ Holding out her hand, she bummed the cigarette and took a long draw. 

 

“Pretty well for someone the Elder has his eyes on.” Hancock whistled and lit another cigarette. 

 

“Well, shit, sorry I asked.” They nodded in agreement. “I’m hoping that’s the business part of your visit ‘cause you can always get the tour of the town.” The innuendo wasn’t lost on her. In fact, it put a smile on her face. He was the same as ever and the thought comforted her. She didn't notice how tense she was. 

 

“I’m sorry to say it wasn’t. I was hoping you’d be willing to travel with me to Sanctuary. I need to speak with Preston and would like someone to watch my six.” The dashing ghoul lit up and fixed his hat. 

 

“With an ass like that I’d pay to, sure. When are we leavin’, sister?” 


	12. I'll be Remembering You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midnight, The stars and You- Al Bowlly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for such a long time between updates, lost the drive to write for a while. Wasn't 100% on whether or not people would like the direction this fic is going.  
> With love,   
> Kindofanoxymoron

**Juliana**

Almost as soon as the two of them departed they came across a firefight between some raiders and a vertibird. It wasn’t a fair fight, but it was against raiders so no foul. The only problem was that it was the Brotherhood. They crouched in the shadows and watched the fight go down.

“These fuckers have been a thorn in my side. Glad I didn’t have to waste any caps to get rid of them. Hey, Jules, who do you wager’ll win?” Hancock used the downtime to eat some chips. They were watching the fight like it was a ball game.  

“I’d say the Brotherhood, but raiders are crafty. Look, on the stairs!” Juliana said and pointed heatedly at a Raider Survivalist crouching down and readying a missile launcher.

“Oh, shit.” 

“Eat this!” The missile made contact with the hull, rocking the vertibird and taking out an engine. They’d been flying so low that the hit was unavoidable. It was a fireworks show as it crashed straight down into the raiders. Hancock whistled as she tugged on his arm, dropping his chips in the process.

“We’d better get going before the reinforcements come in.” She should have expected there to be Power armor units on board. Two of them walked out of the flames and wreckage and laid waste to the remaining raiders. “Like now, Hancock!” He didn’t argue with that but grumbled about his lost chips. 

“I’m glad they’re gone, but it puts a bad taste in my mouth that it was those bigots that did it. No offense, sweetheart.” He said as they weaved through the thin back alleys to avoid being seen. She hummed her agreement but her stomach turned at the thought of Danse being among those wounded and she swallowed the bile that threatened to come up. The man was still wounded and healing from his last foray with raiders. It was only a matter of time before he was back in the field. Would she be lifting her nose and sneering if he was among the dead? The idea had her stopping in her tracks and clutching her pistol. “Ah, you good?” Hancock stopped walking just before bumping into her. She nodded instead of speaking as she collected her bearings. 

“Let’s make a pitstop at Bunker Hill and head out in the morning.” 

The Savoldi’s were always sweethearts and for only 10 caps, their rooms were a steal. Hancock had decided to make himself scarce, so she settled in. Once comfortable, she found her fingertips wandering to her lips. It hadn’t even been a full 24 hours since Danse had kissed her. He’d tasted like alcohol, but she hadn’t minded. Finally somewhat safe and alone, her thoughts wandered. The darkness of her room with the lights from outside coming in from the slits in the walls painted her blankets in stripes of yellow and darkness. Her throat ached and she tried to swallow the burn, but it lingered as heartache tends to do. She scolded herself for wasting precious water as tears formed against her will. Sitting up, she ground the heels of her hands into her eyes and tried to ground herself. But as if due to gravity, the tears fell faster. It was as if her barricades had finally been breached, or rather, the feelings she’d been shoving down were breaking through to the surface. The thought of him finally finding out and how much it would disappoint him had her holding back her whining cries. Her whining cries prevented her from hyperventilating. The very real possibility of him being stationed at the edge of the Glowing Sea and the very real possibility of that being the last time she’d see him alive had her tears stopping along with her breathing. Her mind went blank and she rocked, no other thought than Danse dying. She let out a sharp breath, having it felt punched out of her chest. The sudden numbness seemed a relief from the crying. She carried her head in her hands as she rocked. She rocked and stared blankly in the dim room. The sounds of life from outside keeping her from descending further. 

She rocked until her stomach growled. Suddenly, she was focused. Focused on the task of feeding herself. Find food, end hunger. There was no other thought. Though her self-flagellation and regret struggled to break free, the demand for food kept it at bay. It was as if remembering to take care of her basic needs had her shoving away her breakdown as if it hadn’t nearly happened. Her cheeks felt stiff from her tears so she wiped them, sniffling, as she searched for something to eat in her pack. Settling for eating her feelings, she ate a pack of Fancy Lads though they tasted like dust. Mechanically, robotically, she chewed the cake balls. One cake, chew, swallow, another cake, chew, swallow. Before long, either from the sugar coma or the exhaustion from crying, she set aside the last of the Fancy Lads and fell into a deep sleep. 

 

**Maxson**

He woke Danse with a start, having nudged him with his boot. The Paladin sat up and gathered his bearings. Upon sitting up, he grimaced audibly as he looked around. He was on the floor of his quarters. 

“Glad to see you’re still alive.” Maxson offered dryly. Danse swallowed as he looked up at the Elder before hanging his head. “I recall Cade telling you to take it easy. I don’t believe passing out drunk on the floor is what he was prescribing, Paladin.” Disapproval was heavy in his voice, but he managed to reign in his disgust. “Be that as it were, after seeing your... condition, I am recommending you detox while you’re still recovering from your injuries. That includes no access to alcohol of any sort.” Danse blanched and scrambled to his feet as Maxson nodded to a set of scribes he hadn’t noticed standing behind him from his position on the ground. They began to ransack the place, snatching his bottles, both full and empty. 

“Elder, I don’t believe it is necessary to have people rooting through my belongings. There is no contraband--”

“And yet, I find myself untrusting of your good judgment in regards to consumption.” Maxson turned up his nose and paced a bit as he spoke. “Do not delude yourself into thinking you were good at hiding it. You’ve gained a bit of a reputation since your return to the Prydwen. There are rumors... that you’re a bit of an alcoholic, Danse.” The Paladin lowered his head, jaw flexing. He was unable to deny it. More than once he had ambled through the Prydwen wasted. But rather than being remorseful, he found himself more irritated with his indiscreet behavior. Rather than not drinking, he should have only drank within the confines of his room. Maxson could see him formulating a defense.

“Pardon me, Elder, but everyone enjoys a drink or two. Are almost half of our Knights alcoholics as well? You yourself have bottles aplenty, both in your quarters and the Command Deck, does that make you an alcoholic?” At Danse’s tone, the scribes flinched and froze to watch for the Elder’s reaction. Danse himself knew he was pushing it, but couldn’t find it within himself to admit his addiction. Maxson watched him wither beneath his gaze for a second.

“Paladin, I understand you are distressed. I am offering you help, but do not delude yourself into thinking you have a choice in the matter.” Maxson asserted not unkindly. Danse bit his tongue before he could say anything foolish. The Elder glanced at the nearest scribe and ordered for them to go with Danse’s several stashes with them. After the door shut behind them, Maxson sighed and rubbed his temple. When he spoke again it was without malice. “Please understand that this is not to make a mockery of you or done out of ill-will. It’s just that its a poor model for those under you if you are a known alcoholic without me doing anything to remedy the situation. And you were not wrong when you said there is an alcohol issue within our ranks. Many are ashamed to use our services available to help themselves. If you willingly pursuing help, I am hoping for the others to follow your example.” Danse sighed and took a seat on the edge of his bed, hanging his head. He’d thought his consumption to be his problem and his alone and believed he wasn’t causing anyone harm. Thinking of the others in his position and how he’d feel if he’d found out one of his men were in the same boat had him finally admitting to himself that he had an addiction.

“If... If my addiction has enabled others within our ranks to follow suit, then I agree that there is no other solution.” Maxson nodded solemnly.

“Then Knight-Captain Cade will be here shortly to begin your rehabilitation. I wish you the best, Paladin.” The Elder made to leave but lingered with his hand on the doorknob. Danse watched him in curiosity, waiting for him to speak. “I have to ask. Did your bender last night have anything to do with Knight Harding’s request for leave yesterday, or was that a coincidence?” The freezing of Danse’s countenance and refusal to meet his eyes had Maxson narrowing his own and setting his jaw without further confirmation. 

 

**Hancock**

Having told Juliana that he was going to enjoy what Bunker Hill had to offer before resting, he made for the bar undertoe. The Savoldi’s were good folk so when the father offered that his drinks were on the house, Hancock had relented but had left a hefty tip. He took a swig of his freshly opened beer as he left the bar for some quiet corner. He popped a few mentats into his mouth and got comfy for some contemplation. 

He mused that she’d been acting funny ever since they watched that raider shoot down the vertibird. Not one to pry where he has no business to he figured he would give her the space she needed to sort out her own feelings and that she’d talk to him when she was ready. When she’d swung into town she looked a wee bit worse for wear and more than a bit high strung. The shadow over her eyes and conversational smile she put on belied her true feelings. Hancock sighed as the taste of the grape mentats began to dissipate. It was clear cut and simple. She was dealing with heartbreak and had a lot planned out to do. The least he could do for her was that shoulder to cry on and ears to listen. Never one to dance well with platitudes and grief, he both wanted to be there for her but also hoped to whatever higher power that he wouldn’t end up giving her that stilted pat on the back. She brought out a side of him that wished he were a better man. 

With the turnover rate of some of the drifters and residents of Goodneighbor it wouldn’t do to get attached, and in meeting her he broke that number one rule of self preservation. Keeping everything close to the chest had spared him the pains vulnerability and his life. Suave seduction he could do and casual remarks he could handle because they were meaningless. It fit his irresistible yet dangerous reputation as the mayor of a settlement like Goodneighbor. But with Juliana, he felt he had to put some thought into everything he said. With her, suddenly everything had meaning and his usually charismatic self was floundering at the change up. The vulnerability and the stakes in opening up to her about his past and how he became the way he was was both terrifying and intoxicating. Being the high roller he is, he couldn’t resist. Either she would balk and put up a wall or she would be understanding. In his experience it was almost always the former, but he was betting on her prewar values being different. After they’d been traveling together for a while he finally felt like maybe his intuition was correct so he went all in. She was silent after his revelations and the off-handed deflects he wanted to say were stuck in his throat. It dawned to him during her silence that there would be no turning back and that he had played himself, but then she did something unexpected in his gamble. She gave him a long hug and he had stood there stockstill like a virgin with his arms hovering around her but not daring to. 

“You’re a good man, John.” How precious was her forgiveness. He felt like he could be a better man regardless of his past. With her absolution, he was made weak. It was her that caused his heart to fear and her those fears relieved. Had he the ability to cry he would have, but she cried enough for the both of them. Her lack of judgment and affection had him beat and suddenly his skillfully hidden hand folded and she had all the chips. He was a wretch. He was lost but she had found him.

“You’re a good man.” Hancock parroted as he gazed up at the stars, his bottle long empty. He was blind and she made him see. 

It’d been months since then and she suddenly reappeared spouting shit other people would write off as lunacy. But Hancock knew if anyone could pull it off, she would. 


End file.
